


windows

by Combeferre



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:32:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5817733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Combeferre/pseuds/Combeferre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing that Combeferre does every morning is open his curtains. Normally, this happens without incident, and he goes about his day as normal. </p><p>However, on this one particular day, he opens his curtains - and makes sudden and intense eye contact with the stranger directly across the quad. </p><p>What follows includes vet school shenanigans, simultaneous descent into utter puppy love, misunderstandings, bites on the hip from a particularly vicious horse, David Bowie, romantic declarations, chases, escapes, true love, miracles...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing that Combeferre did each morning – before he’d turned the light on, or stretched, or rubbed his eyes – was open the curtains.

They were disgusting curtains, to be fair; red and blue and yellow patterns, but all the colours were muted and greyed from years of use. He liked them to be out of the way, so that he could see the sky as he went about his morning routine.

This is how it went. He would roll out of bed, put his glasses on, maybe yawn a couple of times, and wander over to the curtains. Yanking them open with both hands, he would squeeze his eyes shut as they adjusted to the light, and take a few moments to examine the weather. Only then would he switch the light on and stretch; a long, relaxed movement, his arms above his head as he rolled up onto his toes.

Once this was done, he would amble back to the desk under the window and open his laptop, whistling through his teeth and watching the people walking across the quad as he waited for Spotify to boot up. He’d select his playlist of morning music (his friend from home, Jean-Prouvaire, had made it for him in a fit of pique after Combeferre had commented that there was no birdsong in London) and retreat into his tiny bathroom, where he’d have a shower and get dressed, brushing his teeth and trying his best to hum along with the fiddle.

But today was different.

His alarm went off at 7.30am, an hour before he needed to leave if he was to get to uni for his 9am lecture. Fumbling blindly on his bedside table, Combeferre eventually found his phone and cut off the alarm, which was some horrendous ambulance-like high-decibel nightmare which he’d never quite figured out how to change.

Reluctantly, he threw his duvet off and swung his legs off the mattress and onto the floor, sitting up at the same time and reaching for his glasses. Once they were on his nose, he took a second to get his bearings before standing up. Like a large, lazy polar bear, he shuffled across to the window and, finding the edge of the curtains, pulled them apart.

The person across the quad did exactly the same. Courfeyrac, as it happened, was already late – he had to be at uni at 8am to groom the horses (the perils of doing a degree in veterinary medicine) and had exactly ten minutes to get out of halls and start the mile-long walk to campus. Fumbling with his curtains, he finally managed to get them open, only to catch the eye of the person in the room across from him, who seemed to do a double take at seeing him.

Not knowing what to do, Courfeyrac lifted his hand and gave an awkward half-wave. A couple of seconds passed, and the other person raised one arm in greeting, before tugging their curtains shut.

As darkness fell back across his room, Combeferre let out a huff of irritation. Damn. He’d managed to avoid eye-contact with the person in the opposite window for a full month. Now, if he saw the guy in lectures, he’d probably have to _talk_ to him.

Shaking his head, he continued with his routine. Once he was dressed, he left his room, carrying his rucksack over one shoulder, and ran into Marius leaving _his_ room.

“Morning,” Marius said cheerfully, running a hand through his slightly-too-long ginger hair. “Sleep well?”

“Not awfully, thanks,” Combeferre replied, waving Marius ahead of him into the kitchen, where Feuilly was already pouring porridge oats into a milk pan. “What time did you get up this morning, Feuilly?”

“Half past five.” Feuilly was now engrossed in meticulously measuring out milk and water. “I read over the lectures for today, hoovered my room, and wrote some emails to lambing farmers.”

“You’re _already_ sorting out your work experience?” Marius sat down on the less grotty of their two sofas, his mouth hanging open slightly. “You’re a _machine_.”

“Not at all,” Feuilly replied, beginning to stir the porridge on the heat. “It’s better to do it earlier, is all.”

“Fair enough,” Combeferre said, getting a bottle of milk out of the fridge, and looking up to see both Marius and Feuilly making finger guns at him. “Oh. Ok. Add one to the chart.” As Marius started to rummage in his pocket for a pen, Combeferre wandered over to the kettle and filled it up with enough water for six people. “One day, you’re all going to get sick of this game.”

“We’ll never get tired of hearing you use your own name as a reply. You’ll never get sick of saying it. And, most importantly, it’s the flat game that keeps on giving.” Feuilly summarized it in three neat points, counting them off on his fingers. “Dirty pint per five points on the chart. You know the rules.”

Marius was, as they spoke, adding a fifth point to both Éponine and Bahorel’s columns on chart, which was entitled _Ferre Enough Mk.II._ The game had started during Freshers Week and was still going strong, despite Combeferre’s half-hearted efforts to change his verbal habits. “It’s hardly fai- hardly reasonable to expect the people who aren’t even _in_ the room to point.”

“They can handle it,” Marius replied, who was taking the opportunity of being allowed to write on the chart to begin doodling around its edges. “Speaking of, where are they?”

“Bahorel’s not going in this morning, and Éponine may actually be dead.” The five of them had gone out the night before, and that, as usual, had resulted in several minor misdemeanours and Bahorel almost getting concussed when he fell off a podium in the club. “Marius, can you go and check on her? I’d better call Joly before I leave.”

Marius immediately galloped off down the corridor to try and rouse Éponine. As Combeferre took a seat at the counter and pulled out his phone, Feuilly started ladling porridge into his bowl, pausing to look at Combeferre. “Do you want some?”

“I’m all right, thanks.”

A second later, a bowl had been pushed his way. “Eat,” Feuilly commanded, his voice level but evidently a little worried. “You’ll get ill if you don’t have breakfast.”

Smiling and shaking his head, Combeferre took the proffered spoon and began eating. As usual, Feuilly had stirred golden syrup into the mixture as it was cooking, but was spooning strawberry jam onto the top of his as well. “You’re too good to me, Feuilly.”

“I know.” Feuilly smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did. “Why did you have to call Joly?”

“I didn’t. I just didn’t particularly want to be the one to wake Ép, you know what she’s like.”

Sure enough, a couple of seconds later, a pile of would-be black fabrics in varying shades of grey came shuffling into the kitchen, followed nervously by Marius.

“Morning, Éponine,” Feuilly called in his most chipper voice. “Want some porridge?”

“What I actually want is to go back to sleep for ten hours. Or twelve. Or maybe just to never have been woken up.” The blot moved over to the fridge and yanked it open, took out a carton of cranberry juice, took a long gulp, and slammed the door. “Why are 9 am lectures even a _thing.”_

“Who knows?” Marius offered tentatively. As usual, he was cautious around Éponine; he was normally the first to get on the wrong side of her violent temper.

“Speaking of mornings, something weird happened earlier.” Combeferre related the incident with the curtains guy to Feuilly, who was the only one who seemed to be listening – Marius was scuttling around Éponine like a frightened rabbit, and Éponine herself was slowly straightening up and regaining signs of life.

“That’s really weird,” Feuilly said musingly once Combeferre had finished. “The wave most of all. Most people would have just shut the curtains again.”

“Sounds a bit like a rom-com.” Éponine hauled herself off the sofa and balanced herself on another seat at the counter, having finally regained her status as a human being. “Was he cute?”

“I couldn’t tell. Morning vision and all that.”

“If you spot him in lectures, we’re going to say hi.” And with that, the matter was settled. There was no arguing with a hungover Éponine. “And, by the way,” she said as they were all leaving, “who the _fuck_ added a tally to my Ferre chart?”

“I did say that it was unfair – “ Combeferre replied, only to have three sets of finger guns pointed at him. “Damnit. Guys.”

***

Courfeyrac arrived at the stables with exactly twenty-three seconds to spare, as the head groom (rather aggressively) put it. “Now, get yourself scrubbed down. You’re in with the horses today, as you know.”

 _Shit._ Despite being a vet student, Courfeyrac had never been the biggest fan of horses. As far as he was concerned, they were just overcomplicated cows, and the intricacies of their tendons and tarsal bones was completely lost on him. However, he reflected, as he scrubbed down his wellies, grooming wasn’t the same as treating. He could do this.

Half-an-hour later, he emerged from the stables with a painful bite wound on his hip. “How does something even _bite_ your hip?” he complained to Bossuet, a guy in his tutorial group, who had fared no better and was sporting a rip in his overalls and a sprained finger. “That takes some serious doing.”

“Boots is both (a) a little fucker and (b) the physical manifestation of the devil,” Bossuet replied, massaging his wrist. “I’m sure he’ll always find a way.”

“And to think all we were doing was grooming him.” Courfeyrac began to try and brush hair off himself; the truculent piebald pony may have not wanted to be touched, but his hair had somehow made the leap from Boot’s coat to Courfeyrac’s only set of overalls. “Remind me never to become an equine vet.”

“And please remind _me_ never to go into farm animals,” a voice said from behind them. Enjolras, his dark blonde hair pulled back into a severe ponytail, had emerged from the cow pen, sporting a smear of what looked like cow shit on his forehead. “Thank god we’ve only got one more day of this.”

“And then we’ll be able to go back to blessed, blessed lie-ins.”

“If you can _really_ call 7.30 a lie-in.”

“Never mind. However, speaking of waking up…” Courfeyrac turned to face the others as they reached the tap where they were supposed to wash their wellies off each morning. “I had what they call a Close Encounter of the Third Kind this morning.”

“Aliens?” Bossuet asked eagerly. He was finding it difficult to balance on one leg and scrub off at the same time.

“Something far weirder.” Courfeyrac, seeing him wobbling, offered an arm. “Have you ever made eye contact with the person across the block from you?”

“No,” Enjolras replied, frowing. “I’ve seen him, though – dark hair, really messy.”

“Well, I have. And it was _weird._ We just kind of waved at each other and shut the curtains again.” Finishing off his wellies, Courfeyrac straightened up and rolled his head around, feeling his neck click.

Enjolras did the same, pushing a strand of hair back off his face. “That’s really odd.”

“You should definitely talk to him,” Bossuet offered. “It would be weird if you didn’t.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Hopefully, he’s thinking the same thing about you,” Enjolras said, dropping his voice as some of their classmates walked past. “Did you recognise him?”

“Vaguely, in an “I’ve seen you in a crowded club” sort of way?”” Courfeyrac frowned, yanking his overalls off his top half and securing them around his waist by tying the arms. “He wasn’t amazingly _hot,_ if that’s what you mean.”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” said Enjolras. “We’d probably better get going, or we’re going to be late for the lecture.”

The three collected their things and started off towards the main campus building, which was on top of a small hill. “Where are the others?” Bossuet asked, checking his watch. “They promised to meet us at the lamppost at ten to nine.”

“There they are,” Courfeyrac replied, pointing. Up ahead, a gaggle of people had spilled onto the path, clothed in an assortment of brightly coloured clothes: their conversation slowly became audible as Courfeyrac, Enjolras and Bossuet climbed the hill towards them.

“Hey, guys!” Joly chirped, his face half-hidden under a stripy beanie that was far too big for him. His cane, decorated with dinosaur stickers, was just visible behind his enormous black greatcoat, which he wore even in the summer. “We were thinking of going out on Wednesday night, if you’re not busy with rowing.”

“Not at all.” The three of them were all a part of the university rowing club, which took up a huge chunk of their free time and energy (and took _off_ roughly half the skin on their hands), but Courfeyrac was never one to turn down a night out. “Where are you going?”

“Not sure yet, but we can sort it later,” Musichetta, her cornrows covered with a bobble hat (which Joly had knitted for her) said quickly, shifting her feet a little as her face broke into a smile. “Now, can we get going? It’s _freezing.”_

Linking arms with Enjolras, Courfeyrac looked up the hill to where the buildings stood, dark and tall, as they started to walk. It wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoying uni; he had some brilliant friends, he loved rowing, and the course was interesting (when he could be bothered to haul himself in). There was just something _missing_ in all of this, something that Courfeyrac couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Pushing his thoughts away, he tuned into the conversation that Enjolras and Joly were having and tried to shake off the feeling he’d had, that, when he’d opened his curtains that morning and seen the stranger, something inside him had changed.


	2. Chapter 2

“What did he _look_ like?” Musichetta asked eagerly, scanning the rows of students below them. “Did Courfeyrac say?”

“Tall?” Joly replied, tapping his foot on the ground. “Apparently he couldn’t see much, just a silhouette.”

“That’s a bit shit,” Bossuet chimed in. He was leaning so far forward over the desk that Joly was compelled to reach over and pull him back by the neck of his shirt. “Anyway, moving on from Courfeyrac – has anyone got a spare copy of the slides for today? I forgo-“

Musichetta wordlessly handed him a few sheets of paper, her smile bright against her dark skin. “You left them on the counter.”

“You are a _lifesaver,”_ Bossuet squawked, blowing her a kiss as he eagerly took the paper. “What would I do without you?”

“Truthfully? You would actually be dead right now,” she replied, winking back.

In the row behind, Enjolras and Courfeyrac were talking about the boat club. As novice men, they weren’t expected to do a great deal to contribute to the running of the society, but the spring elections were coming up and Enjolras was conflicted as to whether to run for Club Captain.

“Why not try?” Courfeyrac asked enquiringly, taking his favourite black ink-pen out of his pencilcase. “It doesn’t seem like you to stand down from a leadership opportunity.”

“I don’t know.” Enjolras, uncharacteristically, had his brow furrowed into a succession of worried lines. “There’s a lot of bad press associated with the boat club. Remember what happened in – “

“ – in 2011? _Nobody_ remembers that.” In that year, the antics on rowing tour had caused the club to be drastically downsized and brought under the direct control of the student union – but the kicker was that nobody in the club now really knew what had happened that was so awful. “And the club is so much better now. You _know_ that.”

“But what if it goes wrong again? Then it will be my fault that the club gets hurt again – or, worse, shut down altogether.”

“Everyone’s too scared of you to misbehave.”

Enjolras turned slightly towards Courfeyrac; the lecture had begun, but he evidently had something important to say. “I was actually wondering whether you wanted to apply for it. Club Captain, I mean.”

“Me? You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Enjolras replied, running a hand through his hair. It was obvious that he’d been giving it some thought. “You’re charismatic and fun, but you have a level head and you can get angry when you need to. You know an awful lot about rowing, more than me, even; and you get on with literally _everybody.”_

“That’s true, I suppose.” Their current Captain, Theodule, was well known for being rather prickly, especially with the freshers. “But I’m not –“

“I’d help you if you wanted to go for it,” Enjolras interrupted eagerly. “If you were Captain, I’d run for Vice-Captain. You know, give you some help, enforce rules, campaign for more funding from the student union – “

“ – you know, that could actually work,” Courfeyrac replied thoughtfully, sinking his chin onto his hand. “And if Bossuet ran for novice men’s captain –“

“- and Cosette went for novice women’s –“

“- we would have a good proportion of the committee on our side.” Courfeyrac smiled. “You may be onto something there, Enjolras. Thank you.”

“No problem.” They both grinned at each other for a second, before remembering that there was a lecture going on ahead of them, and turning back to the front.

***

“Did you see him?”

Combeferre walked back into the flat to find Marius red-faced and waiting for him at the counter, spooning Cheerios into his mouth. “No, I didn’t. Sorry to disappoint…?”

“That’s a shame.”

Marius checked his phone, put it back in his pocket, and then, a second later, checked it again. Combeferre watched him, amused. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything.” Marius let out a dramatic sigh and flopped forwards onto the counter, narrowly avoiding falling into his cereal. “Do you know a girl called Cosette?”

Frowning, Combeferre sat down. “Is she the…blonde one?”

“Yeah.” Marius’ muffled voice broke somewhere in the middle of the word, making it sound like a question. “I gave her my number an hour ago and she hasn’t texted me yet. I’m an idiot. A loveless idiot. I’m going to die alone.”

“Nobody dies alone,” Combeferre replied, a hint of teasing creeping into his voice. “There’s usually doctors and nurses and things around…”

“You’re being intransigent!” Marius howled. “I really, really like her, Ferre.”

“It’s only been one hour?” he asked. Marius nodded, his back shaking as he breathed. “Then she’s probably walking home or in the library or something. Chill.”

“You think so?” Marius said tremulously. “Ferre, she’s the most beautiful, the most brilliant, the most – the most _everything_ girl I’ve ever met.”

“And you’ve got the widest vocabulary, the ginger-est hair, the most multilingual mind and the biggest heart of anyone _I’ve_ ever met.” Combeferre, unusually, felt compelled to put his arm around the smaller boy, and did so.

Marius, in return, flung both arms around Ferre and hugged him tight. “Thank you, Combeferre. You’re amazing.”

“Well, it’s only fair that someone should tell – drat.”

There was a clattering outside the kitchen, and, suddenly, in burst Bahorel, his finger guns thrown out in front of him like a drowning man looking for safety. “Not again. Please. I’m not missing another one.”

“How did you _hear_ us from here?” Marius asked, puzzled. Bahorel’s room was at the opposite end of the corridor to the kitchen.

“I’ve been listening to your – your _pontmercying_ – for the last half an hour. It was too good to miss.” Bahorel let the finger guns drop as Marius enthusiastically added strikes to Éponine and Feuilly’s charts. “Éponine’s going to be _maaaaaad.”_

“As it happens, she already is.” Combeferre patted the seat next to his, and Bahorel hauled himself onto it gracelessly. “So why did you rouse yourself from your slumber?”

“ _As it happens,”_ he replied, in a fair imitation of Combeferre’s west-country brogue, “I know this Cosette you’re talking about, and she’s at work right now which is why she’s not answering.”

Combeferre almost _heard_ Marius’ jaw drop. “You _know_ her?”

“We went to school together, and now we’re here.” Bahorel shrugged. “Be chill about it. She’s really into the whole _relationship_ thing – never been in one, really – so don’t frighten her off.” “

“Where does she work?” Combeferre asked, standing up to fill the kettle. “Near here?”

“At a teashop opposite the Cathedral; I think it’s called _Tenenbaum’s_ or _Trainspotters_ or – something long beginning with _T,_ anyway,” Bahorel responded. “Marius, isn’t that where old Mabeuf’s place is?”

“Yes. _Thenardier’s_. Yeah, it’s next door. I work next door. I work next door to the greatest girl in the world.” Marius let out a long, slow, contented sigh. “This is the best news I have ever received.”

“And you, Ferre?” Bahorel asked, turning to the corner of the kitchen where Combeferre was stood, waiting for the kettle to fill. “Feuilly texted me. Something about a rom-com moment and a mystery man.”

Combeferre could feel himself blushing, and set about finding the teabags to hide it. “Maybe. But I’ve decided it ought to remain a mystery, it’s all too weird at the moment.”

“You don’t even want to meet the guy?”

“Doesn’t look like my type of person.” Even the wave had been enough to make Combeferre nervous; he wasn’t used to exuberance, to public displays of affection of any sort, or even to the puppyish enthusiasm that Marius espoused. Picking up his tea, he began shuffling towards the door.“I’ve got to do some work, guys, so I’ll leave you to it.”

“No –“ Marius cried softly, as Combeferre shut the kitchen door and turned left along the corridor.

He liked where his room was – right at the end of the landing, it was far enough away from the kitchen that he rarely had people paying social calls, and didn’t have to work with noise in the background. Using his elbow to push the handle down, he let the door swing open, revealing a medium-sized room with a single bed on the left, a large desk at the end (underneath the window, where the curtains were still shut) and walls covered with hundreds of postcards and photographs.

Walking to the desk, he put his cup of tea down and, with some caution, drew his curtains open. Across the quad, his mystery man’s window was still covered. Breathing a sigh of relief, Combeferre reached up to take down a couple of textbooks from the shelf on the right.

A couple of hours later, the tea had gone cold, and Combeferre was still working. The light had started to fade from the sky, and it had gone five o-clock by the time that he realised he ought to turn his desk-lamp on if he didn’t want to be working in the dark. Reaching over, he flicked the switch and, with a start, noticed that the curtains in the room opposite had been pulled back.

Nosiness wasn’t in Combeferre’s nature, _but,_ he rationalised as he unlocked his phone, _given the events of this morning, I have a scientific right to be curious._ There didn’t seem to be anyone _in_ the room, in any case. Opening up the camera, he zoomed right in and focused the viewfinder on the window. He had been working for a long time, and he had some time to kill before he started getting ready to go out. Éponine had insisted that they all make their weekly pilgrimage to ABC, a club just down the road from their halls, despite nobody really wanting to go.

It was a _mess._ That was the first thing he noticed. In comparison to Combeferre’s fairly neat floor and bed (all of his trash was on his walls, as Bahorel was fond of pointing out), this person’s floor was covered in clothes and shoes and bags and even (Combeferre noticed with a little frown) half-full mugs filled with what looked like red wine. There was a load of books scattered on the desk (some of them course-related, some not) and, to his surprise, a _Star Wars_ poster above the bed. _Interesting._ Putting the phone back down again, Combeferre sat for a few minutes and carried on looking. It wasn’t like he was _hoping_ that the occupant would reappear. _Curiosity. That’s all it is._

***

“So, you’re going to do it?” Enjolras asked hopefully. He was perched on his desk chair, both knees drawn up to his chest, while Courfeyrac was strewn across the bed, laptop balanced on his stomach.

“I think I will, yeah.” It gave Courfeyrac a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach to even think about it. He’d rowed for two years before coming to university, but had never before even thought about taking such an important position, let alone been encouraged into doing it. “As you say, we could affect real change in the way that the club is run.”

“I don’t want you to do it for the club,” Enjolras replied, his voice gentle. “I want you to do it for _you._ You love rowing, and I know you’ll be brilliant at this. Plus, I think you’ll relish the opportunity to get to boss the freshers around a bit.”

“That would be a perk, I cannot lie.” Sighing, Courfeyrac sat up. “Ok. I’m going to do it. When do we nominate ourselves?”

“Soon, I think. Not sure.” Enjolras had been rummaging around in his chest of drawers, and was now pulling a large red hoodie over his head. “What did you think of the kit, by the way?”

“It’s nice. Good colours, especially on you, _mon ami.”_

Enjolras jokingly threw a rolled-up pair of socks at Courfeyrac’s head. “Seriously.”

“I like it, actually. We’re going to look so pro at the next regatta.”

“Are you going to the dinner after it? Perfect opportunity to do some networking.”

Enjolras usually had a motive for being social that _wasn’t_ for the pure drunkenness of the thing. “Sure. Also, however, the perfect opportunity for you to get utterly and totally blotto.”

“We’ll see. It’s next Saturday, right?”

“Right.” Courfeyrac smiled, ruffling Enjolras’ hair as he stood up. “I’ll see you in a bit, pal. Time to go and do some work, probably.”

“Cheerio,” Enjolras replied, his voice muffled as he flopped face-down onto his bed. “If I’ve not surfaced by 8, please assume that I’m dead.”

“Will do!” he called as he shut the door and proceeded directly to the room next door. Pushing the door open, he tutted as an expanse of dirty laundry greeted him. He could have _sworn_ that it wasn’t that bad this morning. Oh, well. Kicking things towards the centre of the room, he picked up one and then two dirty mugs with paint-water in them, and placed them both carefully on the desk. As he did, he looked up, and spotted a dark head in the window opposite, evidently bent over the desk.

 _Shit._ His close encounter was back. Carefully, he backed away from the window and, placing his laptop on the floor, fled out of the door. He would come back when it was safe. Not that he didn’t _want_ to know this guy, of course; he was up for making friends with anyone. But, holy _hell,_ was it awkward now.

**_YikYak, 5.56pm_ **

_Made eye contact with the guy who lives opposite from me. I think we’re now engaged._

**_Text, Courfeyrac to Enjolras, 8.05pm_ **

_Enj? Are you alive?_

**_Text, Enjolras to Courfeyrac, 8.06pm_ **

_Barely. Do we have to go out?_

**_Text, Courfeyrac to Enjolras, 8.10pm_ **

_Yes. Can you hear the music playing? That’s the sound of fun. Follow the music. Follow it. ABC awaits._

**_Whatsapp, Éponine to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 8.32pm_ **

_Guys, are you sort of sorted? Time to PARTAYYY_

**_Whatsapp, Combeferre to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 8.35pm_ **

_Give me two secs!!_

**_Whatsapp, Marius to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 10.47pm_ **

_Ready for what??!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter two!! thank you for the great response to c1, this is my first try at writing long/slow-burn fic with courfeyrac and combeferre, so it's great to see people responding so enthusiastically! 
> 
> this fic has so far been derived from one single comment made by one of my flatmates during a group viewing of the les mis movie - "enjolras and marius look like vet school lads". I'm trying my hardest to live up to this.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Text, Enjolras to Courfeyrac, 11.08pm_ **

_Where are you??_

**_Text, Courfeyrac to Enjolras, 11.10pm_ **

_!!_

**_Text, Courfeyrac to Enjolras, 11.11pm_ **

_I think I see my window friend_

**_Text, Courfeyrac to Enjolras, 11.40pm_ **

_I’m by the DJ btw_

**_Whatsapp, Combeferre to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 11.41pm_ **

_Where’s Marius?_

***

As usual, the ABC was disgustingly loud, hot and sweaty. The floor vibrated with the sheer weight of people dancing and with the strength of the bass, which sent shivers through Combeferre as he tried to navigate back to Éponine, holding a pair of drinks above his head to stop them getting knocked out of his hands.

“ _It’s a bit busy!_ ” he yelled, when he eventually found her dancing right up by the DJ, and handed her the drink.

Without pausing, Éponine knocked it back and gave Combeferre the glass again. “ _Marius got left behind!”_ she shouted over the crowd, who had begun singing along to some house song that Combeferre didn’t know. “ _Too slow to join the predrinks.”_

“ _Idiot,”_ Combeferre shouted back, smiling and taking a gulp of his own drink. “ _Having fun?”_

Instead of speaking, Éponine gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up, before turning and dancing off into the crowd. Combeferre tried to follow her, but she was soon swallowed up by the hordes of people, and he was left to lean against the stage and look out over the mess of bodies.

Suddenly, he froze with the shock of recognition. There, right in the middle of the dancefloor, was the man he’d seen through the window.

It was as if a lightning bolt had struck him. Despite only having seen him for a few seconds, Combeferre would know him anywhere – that dark hair, the messy attire, even the way he moved as he danced. The glass that Combeferre was holding slipped out of his hand, but he was too shocked to care that his best Converse were now splattered in vodka lemonade.

It was _him._

Taking a deep breath, Combeferre pushed a lock of hair back with his hand and determinedly plunged into the crowd.

It was time to take fate into his own hands.

***

**_Whatsapp, Combeferre to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 11.57pm_ **

_I’ve seen the window guy. Going to talk to him._

**_Whatsapp, Éponine to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 11.57pm_ **

_WHAT. the second I leave and something interesting happens_

**_Whatsapp, Bahorel to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 11.58pm_ **

_are you going to shag him? ;) ;) ;)_

**_Whatsapp, Feuilly to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 11.58pm_ **

_get your mind out of the gutter bahorel! combeferre’s just going to confess his ardent love_

**_Whatsapp, Combeferre to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 11.59pm_ **

_I hate you all_

**_Text, Enjolras to Courfeyrac, 11.59pm_ **

_Found the guy I keep seeing across from me??? His name is Grantaire_

**_Text, Enjolras to Courfeyrac, 11.59pm_ **

_He’s nice and also horrible_

**_Text, Courfeyrac to Enjolras, 12.00am_ **

_HAPPY MIDNIGHT_

**_Text, Courfeyrac to Enjolras, 12.00am_ **

_Also see you in the smoking area in 3 mins?_

**_Text, Enjolras to Courfeyrac, 12.01am_ **

_Yes_

***

Courfeyrac spotted Enjolas right away – the club balcony was huge and filled with large pot plants, but his friend could be heard from a mile away when he was arguing. Sighing, Courfeyrac navigated through the hordes of people chatting and smoking towards Enjolras’ raised voice, which, he soon found, was directed at a gangly, disgruntled-looking dark-haired man, for whom it seemed to be an immense effort not to burst out laughing.

“Alright, Enj?” he asked, touching his friend lightly on the shoulder. “Who’s this?”

The blonde jumped about a foot in the air at Courfeyrac’s voice before turning, his face relaxing into a smile. “Courf. This is Grantaire – he lives across from me. Grantaire, this is Courfeyrac, my flatmate.”

“Nice to meet you.” The dark man extended one long arm, and Courfeyrac leaned over to shake it. “Which boat are you in?”

“Same as Enjolras, novice men’s first eight. Bow.” Courfeyrac cocked his head. “Wait – do you row too?”

“Sort of?” Grantaire shrugged, dropping Courfeyrac’s hand. “I dropped out of the club last year.”

“Do you mind me asking –? “

“Not at all. Basically, the novice men’s captain at the time was a prick. You may know and recognise him as the current club captain.”

“Theodule?” Courfeyrac replied, not exactly surprised that Grantaire had taken against their captain – just that week, he had given their 4th-seater a roasting over his technique that had left him nearly in tears. “That kind of makes sense.”

“Yeah,” said Grantaire, shuffling a little and crossing his arms. “Plus, I wasn’t really enjoying it any more – that kind of culture isn’t really my thing. You know. Excessive drinking and the like.”

“Fair enough.” Courfeyrac had never really been into that either, but it made sense now that he was busting a gut in every other aspect of his life – work hard, play hard. “So, what course are you – ?”

He was disturbed by a tap on the shoulder. “Sorry, do you mind if I -?” a voice said, and Courfeyrac turned, only to find himself face to face with the man he’d seen through his window.

***

**_Whatsapp, Enjolras to FLAT CHAT, 1.01am_ **

_Courf!! has found that guy!! and also I’m walking back with Grantaire_

**_Whatsapp, Musichetta to FLAT CHAT, 1.03am_ **

_ENJOLRAS DID YOU PULL OH MY GOD_

**_Whatsapp, Joly to FLAT CHAT, 1.03am_ **

_!!!!_

**_Whatsapp, Enjolras to FLAT CHAT, 1.05am_ **

_Don’t be ridiculous, we’re just coming home_

**_Whatsapp, Musichetta to FLAT CHAT, 1.08am_ **

_ok ;) also where have you left courf???_

**_Whatsapp, Joly to FLAT CHAT, 1.10am_ **

_more to the point, where is Bossuet_

**_Whatsapp, Joly to FLAT CHAT, 1.30am_ **

_found him <3 <3 _

***

“So, you didn’t know who I was?” Courfeyrac asked, a little bit offended. He was sat with the window guy ( _Combeferre, his name was Combeferre!)_ in a chicken-shop across the road from ABC. He couldn’t have made it up if he’d tried.

“Not at all. Should I have?” Combeferre flashed him a puzzled smile as he rootled around in his takeaway box for another nugget.

“I’m sort of a big name on campus, you know.” Courfeyrac almost cringed as he heard himself saying the words – it had been printed on the back of his shirt for rowing tour, due to the absurd number of people who seemed to know of him, despite the fact that he didn’t know them. “I have a t-shirt to prove it.”

“Sure you are,” Combeferre replied, looking up from his box again. Courfeyrac couldn’t help but be floored by his smile. “But if I’d never heard of you…”

“Evidently, I have some work to do before I become the BNOC of the year,” Courfeyrac replied, grinning. “Here, can I borrow a chip?”

“I’ll expect it back when you’re finished with it,” said Combeferre, pushing the box over to Courfeyrac, who picked out a couple of slightly oily fries with only a little bit of trepidation. “They are disgusting, though.”

“It’s still food.” Looking over his shoulder, Courfeyrac furtively stuffed the chips into his mouth. “The staff here hate me, by the way. Apparently I stole a box of wings once and they’ve never really trusted me since.”

“You _stole_ a box of – “ Combeferre’s eyes widened. “Never mind. Valjean’s coming – “

“Alright, lads?”

Valjean’s voice, as always, sounded like a death knell; deep, threatening and _loud,_ it made Courfeyrac physically nervous. “Hey, Valjean. How are you?”

“Well, thank you.” The enormous man glowered at Courfeyrac from behind Combeferre. “This idiot isn’t stealing your food, is he, Combeferre?”

“Not at all, Valjean. We were just –“

“Ah, I see what this is.” Valjean leaned over towards Courfeyrac, his massive profile blocking out the life. “You don’t hurt this boy, _capische?_ Because if I see him – “

“It’s not like that, Valjean, honestly!” Combeferre had turned bright red. “We only met an hour ago. We’re just talking.”

Valjean resumed his normal stance. “Okay. That’s fine then.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be watching you, Courfeyrac.”

“Jesus,” Combeferre breathed as Valjean walked away. “That was quite something. I’ve never seen him that mad before.”

“You know him?” Courfeyrac asked curiously.

“I come in here a lot. I’m not a very good cook, and he’s taken me under his wing a bit.” Combeferre’s blush was slowly subsiding. “Sorry about that. He can get quite…protective.”

“No worries. If I did, in fact, steal a box of wings from him, I probably deserve it.” Courfeyrac smiled sadly. “I’d better be getting home, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh.” Was it his imagination, or did Combeferre’s smile diminish a little? “Do you want me to walk with you? I said I’d wait for my flatmate but –“

“No, it’s ok. It’s only five minutes,” Courfeyrac replied quickly. “I’ll be seeing you around then, Combeferre. It was nice to meet you finally.”

“And you as well.”

***

**_Text, Enjolras to Courfeyrac, 2.03am_ **

_Are you back Courf??_

**_Text, Courfeyrac to Enjolras, 2.04am_ **

_ya. are you with Grantaire?_

**_Text, Enjolras to Courfeyrac, 2.10am_ **

_in the shower, without Grantaire._

***

**_YikYak, anonymous, 3.47am_ **

_I think I’m in love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long *throws a hastily written chapter at you*.


	4. Chapter 4

“Was he nice?” Musichetta asked eagerly, stirring brown sugar into her coffee. It was Saturday morning, and Courfeyrac had accompanied her on a dress-shopping mission, but Musichetta had decided to take the opportunity to grill him about Combeferre, and had been doing so for the last hour. “Was he well-spoken? You have to tell me _everything.”_

“I feel like I already have,” Courfeyrac joked weakly. “Yes, he was nice. And he was more than well-spoken, he was _eloquent._ And he had one of those really low, growly voices as well, but not like an angry voice? It was…soothing.”

“Wow. Did you get his number?”

Shaking his head, Courfeyrac took the cup of tea being proffered by the barista. “Thank you. And, no? He’s not really my type, like I’ve said before, plus it felt a bit weird – fifteen minutes in Chicken Cottage and we’re exchanging numbers? No. Too weird.”

“Ah well. He’s on our course, though?” When Courfeyrac assented, Musichetta nodded in satisfaction. “Cool. You’ll be seeing him again, then.”

“No doubt.” Courfeyrac took a large gulp of tea, wincing as he burned his mouth in the process. “Ouch. Where next, then?”

“Topshop,” Musichetta replied. “I’ve got to find a decent dress for the Sports Ball.” She was referring to the big dinner that all the sports societies at their college threw every year, which was coming up in a couple of months’ time. “Cosette sent me a picture of this _gorgeous_ blue number that she’s bought, and I want to look fancy. _Really_ fancy.”

“Who’s Cosette?” Courfeyrac asked curiously as they exited the coffee shop into the windy spring morning, cups still in their hands. “Is she at our uni?”

“Yes, and on our course. I’ll point her out at some point. She rows, though – I wonder why the pair of you have never met?”

“Who knows.” They were walking along briskly now, the wind whipping at their hair. “How are things with Joly and Bossuet, by the way?”

“Good,” Musichetta responded, a little too quickly. Her face broke into a wide smile. “Really good. We still get some awkward questions, comments, you know – little things – but nobody’s been outright hateful yet, which is a start.”

“It must be strange to finally be together openly. I mean, I know how weird things were when I came out at high school.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” The three of them had announced their relationship via a YouTube video, which had been the source of some scandal around the college, and had opened them up to a number of idiots who had nothing better to do with their time than to spread their own ignorance around. “And the channel is thriving, now. I got Bossuet and Joly to do a Q and A on getting into veterinary school, and the video’s been viewed almost 4,000 times already!”

“I’m so happy for you.” And Courfeyrac genuinely meant it – Musichetta, Bossuet and Joly were three of his closest friends, and seeing them together and happy meant a lot to him. “What’s going on with the hockey girls tonight, by the way? Éponine was talking about getting all glammed up for something earlier.”

“We have a social with the rugby boys, actually. I’m not going, but Ép was keen for it earlier in the week so I suppose that’s what it is.”

“Fair enough.” They had arrived at Topshop. “Finished your drink?”

“Sure.” Taking his arm, Musichetta flicked her hair back over her shoulder. “Now, let’s find something that I look amazing in _and_ that I can afford on a student loan!”

In spite of himself, Courfeyrac broke into a grin. “That’s the spirit.”

***

**_Whatsapp, Combeferre to SHREK IS LOVE aka rugby freshers, 3.47pm_ **

_Are you guys going to the social tonight?_

**_Whatsapp, Marius to SHREK IS LOVE aka rugby freshers, 3.58pm_ **

_yeah!!_

**_Whatsapp, Bahorel to SHREK IS LOVE aka rugby freshers, 4.05pm_ **

_so ready to get f*cked up_

**_Whatsapp, Bahorel to SHREK IS LOVE aka rugby freshers, 4.20pm_ **

_4.20 ayyyyyy_

***

Combeferre _loved_ rugby. And, more importantly, he loved alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

Bahorel had taken Marius, Éponine and Feuilly out clubbing, but he had headed straight home. He didn’t like going out much, and, anyway, his bed was calling.

Stumbling off the tube, he pulled himself upright and just managed to avoid walking straight into a fence. _Not a good start._ Gently, he picked one foot up off the floor, pivoted, and put it down again. _Progress._ He hadn’t felt like this for a long time, but it was _fun._

Aware that he was making a fool of himself, he progressed slowly out of the station, taking five minutes to get through the ticket barrier. _Idiot._ From there, it was only a ten minute walk back to campus, but it took a lifetime. There was a cat on the road. He tried to save it, but something with bright lights had beeped at him.

He found himself on the floor. _It’s not comfortable down here._ Rearing up, he staggered to his feet and carried on going, texting Joly as he went.

**_Text, Combeferre to Joly, 11.05pm_ **

_Jolllly_

_hahaha_

_areyou drunk_

**_Text, Joly to Combeferre, 11.07pm_ **

_ferre? no, I’m not. are you?_

**_Text, Combeferre to Joly, 11.08pm_ **

_yaaa_

_coming home now_

_love you_

He found that he had a stupid grin on his face. He _loved_ Joly. The pair of them had hit it off on day one in their first tutorial, and they’d been good friends ever since. That applied to a few people, actually. He _loved_ vet school. He _loved_ his flat mates, despite the _Ferre Enough_ game. And Courfeyrac, the window man, the one he’d met on Wednesday. He had liked him – liked the way he talked and gesticulated, as if there wasn’t enough time for him to talk about everything he wanted to. He liked the urgency in Courfeyrac’s movements, and the way he pushed his hair back off his forehead. But Courfeyrac hadn’t seemed that interested, and, anyway, as a member of the rowing club, he _smelt_ of trouble. No. No way.

Digging in his pocket, he found his keycard (how had he gotten back to halls so quickly?) and unlocked the door. Once inside, he found himself on the floor again. _Oh dear._ Pulling himself to his feet once more, he managed to slide his way along the wall and into the lift that would take him up to his flat on the fourth floor.

 _Home._ He managed, on the fifth try, to unlock the front door, and slithered into the flat with a resounding sigh of relief. The others were all out, and so he could finally relax and commando crawl back along to his bedroom without being judged.

His laptop was still open, and the music from predrinks earlier was paused. Smiling loosely, he cannoned over to his desk and hit _play_ with a couple of inaccurate stabs on the keyboard. _It’s time to DANCE!_

***

Unusually, Courfeyrac was working.

He didn’t normally work on Saturdays – they tended to be reserved for going out – but Enjolras had decided to stay in and, since Musichetta, Joly and Bossuet were having a movie night, he had nobody to go out with and that meant that the only solution was to work.

But it was _so boring._ And it was nearly half past eleven at night, which was clearly far too late to begin working on neurology, the subject that had been awaiting him for the last hour while he scrolled through his phone.

So, time for bed.

Closing the three textbooks that were scattered on the desk, Courfeyrac picked up a couple of dirty mugs and stood up, and was about to leave the room when movement across the quad caught his eye.

Combeferre had entered his room and was standing with his back to the window, pulling various things out of his coat pockets and throwing them onto the bed with loosely held limbs. Courfeyrac sat down again, suddenly interested. The staid, upright man he’d met on Wednesday was evidently drunk as hell.

He continued to watch as Combeferre reached over and pressed the keyboard of his laptop a couple of times. He’d evidently done something with Spotify, because, a second later, Combeferre began to _dance._

Not club dancing. Not jumping up and down while waving a fist, or bopping from side to side with his hands in his pockets. Combeferre was dancing slowly, his hips rolling in the slightly darkened room as he sloppily let his jacket slide off his shoulders. And Courfeyrac couldn’t pull himself away, despite every instinct saying _no, this is creepy, and you said earlier that he wasn’t your type and it’s wrong and_ because, God, Combeferre was taking off his shirt and, even from a distance Courfeyrac could see the muscles of his back rippling under his brown skin and there was _no way_ that this was okay…

Abruptly standing up again, Courfeyrac turned quickly and left the room before the man could get any more naked. A blush was rising on his cheeks as he went into the kitchen. What was he, twelve? Combeferre just had a good body. An _unexpectedly_ good body. But that meant nothing – after all, they were completely different, and Combeferre hadn’t seemed that interested when they’d met the other day. It was just him being tired and a little bit lonely that had sparked…whatever _this_ was.

“You’re being ridiculous!” he told himself sternly, out loud, as he put the kettle on again. “You’re just in need of an ego boost.”

But he couldn’t stop himself replaying the moment in his head over and over again as he went about his nightly routine, making sure all the sockets were switched off and that his alarm was set for the morning.

From the room next to him, he could hear the vague sounds of people laughing loudly and then being shushed. It made him feel even worse to know that his flatmates felt a strange sort of pity for him; he could see it in their eyes.

The thing was that, despite the whole campus knowing his name, Courfeyrac didn’t actually have very many friends at university – his social circle barely extended beyond his flatmates and the boys in his boat, although everybody seemed to presume otherwise. He hadn’t put the effort in during the first couple of weeks, assuming that it would be easy to pick up friends like he’d done all the way through high school, but that had left him decidedly less popular than he would have liked.

He’d never been lonely before.

A wave of catharsis washed over him as he rolled over and turned off the light.

Perhaps he would get Combeferre’s number after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a mess!! (i was in majorca all weekend, sorry that this is late af!)


	5. Chapter 5

“I feel like we ought to maybe get to know each other better,” Courfeyrac said loudly.

“That’s a little stiff, don’t you think?” Enjolras, sitting on the desk chair, was engrossed in a magazine article about parasites or something (Courfeyrac really couldn’t care less). “Why don’t you say something a little bit more…I don’t know, _natural_?”

“I can’t!” Groaning in frustration, Courfeyrac buried his face in a pillow. “This is so _embarrassing._ When have I _ever_ been the type to get…I don’t know…a _crush,_ or whatever the hell this is?”  

“It literally happens about three times a week.”

“But this one is _different,_ Enjolras!” he wailed. “Combeferre is so nice…he’s so smart…and did I mention that – “

“- he’s got a great body? Yes, you did. About twelve times.” Enjolras checked his watch, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. “Why don’t you just start a conversation with him about Star Wars or something and see where it goes from there?”

“I don’t even know if he _likes_ Star Wars!”

“ _Everyone_ likes Star Wars,” Enjolras said firmly. “And, chances are, you made just as strong an impression on him as he did on you.” He stood up, dropping the magazine onto Courfeyrac’s desk. “I’m off out.”

“Where are you going?” Courfeyrac cried as Enjolras headed for the door. “Don’t leave me here _alone!”_

“I’m just going to the shops.” Was it Courfeyrac’s imagination, or did Enjolras _blush_ a little? “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“I’ll be here. _Waiting._ ” He waited until Enjolras had left the room before rolling over and burying his face in his duvet. This was a _disaster._

***

“Did you like… _like_ like this guy?” Feuilly asked curiously. “You’ve not told us much about him.”

“I didn’t… _not_ like him?” Combeferre ventured, taking a sip of his tea and almost spitting it out as it burned his mouth. “I don’t know. We got along well enough, I suppose, but it’s probably not going to go any further. I don’t think.”

“Why not? Why don’t you give him a chance?” Éponine was sprawled over one of the sofas, her knees showing through her artfully ripped jeans. “For all you know, he’s Mister Right.”

“True.” Combeferre, to tell the truth, had been considering…everything. Courfeyrac was most things that he wasn’t – short, fiery-tempered, incredibly enthusiastic and (although he hated to admit it) charming as hell. They weren’t even in the same _game,_ let alone the same league.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Bahorel piped up teasingly from the corner, where he was sewing a button back onto one of Feuilly’s shirts. “Go, Ferre!”

Combeferre decided it would be better to change the subject. “Speaking of going, Marius, aren’t you late for work?”

His other flatmate grinned. “I swapped shifts with Éponine, so, in fact, _she’s_ late for work.”

“You twat, Pontmercy!” she yelled, rocketing up and off the sofa. “You couldn’t have reminded me, I suppose?”

“Sorry.” He at least had the grace to look chastised and a little bit scared. “Have fun out there, kiddo.”

Sticking her tongue out by way of reply, Éponine exited the flat with a flurry of banged doors and loud exclamations as Bahorel threw Feuilly back his shirt. “There. Good as new.”

“Thanks, ‘rel,” Feuilly responded quietly, examining the front of the shirt with a small smile on his face. “It looks brilliant.”

“No worries,” he said, standing up and stretching. “I’d better be off too, actually. I promised Bossuet that I’d go and work through the dissection booklet for next week with him.”

“Who’s Bossuet?” Feuilly asked curiously. Combeferre was surprised to see a tinge of pink creeping over the tips of his flatmate’s ears.

“He’s on my dissection table. He’s a good laugh, actually – I’ll bring him round at some point.” Saluting them, Bahorel too made his exit, leaving Marius free to take his seat on the sofa.

“So you’re not going to chase this guy up, Ferre?” Feuilly asked, a hint of resignation in his voice.

Combeferre smiled. “Let’s just see how it goes.”

***

**_Text, Courfeyrac to Enjolras_ **

_I’m lonely_

**_Text, Enjolras to Courfeyrac_ **

_Tant pis_

***

“Hey!”

Combeferre turned around and found himself face-to-face with Courfeyrac. He’d decided to walk into uni on his own that day in order to get some peace and quiet from the incessant questions of his flatmates, only to be confronted with the root of the problem itself. “Hey. How are you?”

“Not too bad, thank you.” Courfeyrac fell into step beside him as if he’d been doing it all his life. “Got a long day today?”

“No, I’m in the earlier dissection so I’ll be back in halls by three. You?”

Courfeyrac clutched his chest in mock anguish. “Sadly, I finish at five.”

“Tough luck,” Combeferre replied.

They walked on in silence for a minute or two, Combeferre racking his brains trying to think of a decent conversation topic. He had just reached the point of making an inane comment on the weather when Courfeyrac piped up again.

“It’s such a gorgeous place to live, isn’t it? I have to keep reminding myself to look once we get over the brow of the hill – I miss it otherwise, and it’s not always the right weather.”

“Miss what?”

“Oh, you’ve never seen it?” Courfeyrac clapped his hands together. “Once we get to the top of the hill, look directly to your right.”

It was only a few more steps before they crested the hill. Combeferre felt a warm pressure on his arm and looked down to see Courfeyrac’s hand there, turning him around. “Look. Can you see it?”

All the way down the hill was a slight sheen of fog created by the rising dew and the frost and the sun in equal proportions, shrouding the ground all the way down to the tree barrier, which hid the dirty buildings and skyscrapers behind it in an ethereal manner until one could almost believe they were in the countryside again.

Combeferre swallowed hard a couple of times. “I miss the fields sometimes.”

“I know the feeling.” Beside him, Courfeyrac had shoved both hands back into his pockets and was gazing ahead intensely. “I always feel so lonely in the city. I was never meant to be here, I don’t think.”

“It really hurts sometimes.” Somehow, not facing Courfeyrac made it much easier to talk to him. The words were spilling out of Combeferre’s mouth before he could stop them. “It really goddamn hurts that nobody else seems to understand what I’m feeling. It’s not just missing home, it’s _painful.”_

“I understand.” Combeferre turned to see Courfeyrac smiling peacefully, as if something had fallen into place for him. “I understand completely.”

***

**_YikYak, 15.58_ **

_tfw you smell of formaldehyde and you can’t get rid of it and you just accept that you will die like this_

 

***

“So, get this,” Musichetta said, her voice lowered to a whisper. “You know how Enjolras said he went out shopping on Sunday?”

“Yeah.” Courfeyrac was making pasta on the hob but turned eagerly to hear her gossip. “So?”

“I have sources who say that Enjolras was, in fact, having coffee in town with a dark-haired gangly dude on Sunday.” Musichetta’s face broke into a huge smile. “I deduce that our hitherto sworn bachelor of the flat is hunting for love.”

“Or maybe he just wanted a good argument,” Courfeyrac replied. “I’ve met the guy in question and he is _so_ not Enjolras’ type. Apathetic, nihilistic, the whole works.”

“Maybe that’s why Enj is interested, though. They do say opposites attract, and if Enjolras got with someone of similar ferocity, I’m fairly sure that their combined anger could replace our Sun as a source of energy.” Musichetta reached past him to pick up a pan of soup, which had started to bubble angrily. “Sorry. Anyway, don’t give up all hope yet.”

“Wasn’t planning to. I want to see Enjolras happy, that’s all.” Courfeyrac sighed internally. He’d not seen Combeferre all day after the weirdly emotional moment on the hill, and he was beginning to think that he’d scared him away. That, he was strangely happy to realise, wasn’t something that upset him. Maybe this had all just been a little bit of an infatuation after all.

“Want some pasta?”

“Ooh, yes please.”

Later that evening, he returned to his bedroom, a little bit tipsy after consuming half a bottle of wine over a game of Monopoly, to find that the lights were on and the curtains open in Combeferre’s room. This time, however, there was a large smiley face spelled out in post-it notes on the window.

Courfeyrac let out a pleased laugh without even realising it. Evidently, he hadn’t completely weirded Combeferre out.

**_Whatsapp, Courfeyrac to FLAT CHAT, 10.05pm_ **

_Does anybody have any post-it notes?_

***

“Do you think it will work?” Combeferre asked nervously. He and Feuilly had retreated to Marius’ room in order to do some revision before bed. “Are you sure it’s not too – weird?”

“It’s not weird. I don’t know if it will work, but – “ Feuilly shrugged. “It’s a gesture. And you guys evidently had a bit of a moment earlier – it seems like a shame not to do _something.”_

“It wasn’t even a _moment,_ though?” Combeferre replied, making finger quotes around the _moment._ “We just talked and it got a bit heavy, that’s all.”

“Sounds like a moment to _me_ ,” Marius said thickly, his mouth full of crisps. “Aren’t we supposed to be revising, by the way? I literally know _nothing,_ and our exam is next week.”

“Sure. Neurology, was it?”

The three were busy sorting through their notes for sections on neurology when Combeferre leapt to his feet. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go and check, it’s driving me mad.”

“Check what?”

“What if he’s left a reply or something?” Combeferre shook his head. “I’ve got to go.”

Ignoring Joly’s protests, he marched out of Marius’ room and into his own, racing straight to the window.

Courfeyrac’s light was on and the curtains were open and, on the window, in an array of different coloured post-it notes, was a peace sign.

***

**_Whatsapp, Combeferre to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 10.40pm_ **

_!!!!_

**_Whatsapp, Marius to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 10.42pm_ **

_it worked?_

**_Whatsapp, Feuilly to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 10.43pm_ **

_it worked!!_

**_Text, Courfeyrac to Enjolras, 11.01pm_ **

_come and look out of my window!!!!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a very speedy update to make up for the delay last time!! have a lovely weekend y'all


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> exam-time is over! (for another, like, five weeks...oh well). anyway, here's another chapter, inclusive of enjolras/grantaire cuteness, a lot of complaining, some background character information and, sadly, not much courferre - but I promise they're coming back next time!!! hope you're all still on the bandwagon as it were. cheerio x x

It was three days later, and the post-it notes had all fallen off Courfeyrac’s window.

“I don’t know why he hasn’t tried to get in touch,” Combeferre said thoughtfully. He was sitting with Feuilly at the breakfast bar again, mechanically eating his way through a bowl of cornflakes while his flatmate read through some lecture notes. “There was that one evening and then – poof – nothing.”

“We _do_ have exams, remember,” Feuilly said absently, reaching for a textbook on the other side of the counter. “He’s probably been stressed or busy or something.”

“It still seems a little weird, that’s all.” Abruptly, Combeferre pushed the cereal bowl away. “I’m going to go and see Valjean.”

“Combeferre, our exam is in three hours – “

“All the more reason to talk to somebody who will actually _listen_ to me!” Combeferre said, a hint of anger creeping into his voice before he realised what he was saying. “Feuilly, I’m sorry. I’m just – “

“I know, don’t worry.” Feuilly had looked up from his work and was smiling gently. “Go and see Valjean. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Thank you.” Uncharacteristically, Combeferre felt the urge to hug him, but held off – Feuilly had never liked the whole physical contact thing. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

***

“I just don’t know what to do,” Combeferre said, stirring a spoonful of sugar into his tea. He was sitting in the little kitchen in Valjean’s flat – seemingly straight from the sixties, it was floored in a horrible black and white linoleum and bordered with archaic art deco cupboards and bright yellow floral curtains, but it had become like a second home to him. “I’m so –“

“Do you _like_ this boy?” Valjean asked, sitting down opposite him. “He’s always seemed like a bit of a prat to me.”

“I don’t know if I… _like_ him, per se?” Combeferre shrugged. “I just – we’ve only known each other for a week or two, and I feel like I have more in common with him than anyone I’ve met here so far. And it’s so difficult to pin him down. And he _is_ a prat. All the rowing lads are.”

“It sounds like the pair of you have a connection of some sort.” Valjean was the perfect person to talk to about these things. He was excellent at articulating feelings that Combeferre couldn’t even put into words.

“We do!” Combeferre replied, taking a gulp of tea. “But I don’t even know his phone number. Hell, I don’t even know his surname!”

Valjean almost subconsciously made the sign of the cross before shaking his head. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries.” Combeferre had heard a lot about Valjean’s past, and none of it had been pleasant. “How is Cosette, by the way? I don’t tend to see her around university a lot.”

“She’s well, I think,” Valjean replied, his forehead creasing with frown lines. “She works an awful lot at that horrible café in the square – I offered her a job here but she cited independence and world experience as a reason not to take it. She’s too proud…and too clever for her own good.”

“Why?”

“The Thenardiers are crooks, every last one of them.” Combeferre gave an involuntary gasp at the mention of Éponine’s surname. “I knew them, back in the day. I was even in prison with the husband, for a while.” Valjean narrowed his eyes a little. “Do you know them?”

“Not – no – “ Combeferre’s protests wilted under Valjean’s stare. “I live with an Éponine Thenardier.”

“It’s not a common surname.” Valjean seemed almost to be musing. “I don’t know why I let Cosette work for them. When I found out, I almost stormed down there and – “

“What matters is that Cosette is making her own choices,” Combeferre replied, letting a little bit of a cautionary tone slip out. “She’s smart. She won’t get hurt, Valjean, you know that.”

“I do know that.” Valjean sighed and took a sip of his tea, before putting it back on the table and pushing it away. “This tea is cold. Ah well.” Standing up, he went to the sideboard and pulled a piece of paper from the phone pad. “Combeferre, I’m going to give you Cosette’s mobile number. She’s had a hard time making friends at uni – she works so much, and she lives at home, which I know doesn’t help…I’d really appreciate it if you’d drop her a text. I hardly see her any more.”

“I will do. She’s a lovely girl.” Combeferre stood up. “Valjean, I’d better be going. I have an exam soon.”

“Ah, yes. Cosette was telling me about it. Good luck, old boy.” Steeling himself, Combeferre received a slap on the back (which hurt like the _devil_ ), a small piece of paper, and a handshake from Valjean before letting himself out of the side door of the chicken shop, feeling even more confused and conflicted than he had before.

Was Éponine _really_ the daughter of two criminals? While Combeferre knew that she hadn’t had the happiest childhood, that didn’t have to equate to a life of crime…did it?

***

“Oh my god,” Enjolras said slowly, running a hand through his hair. He and Courfeyrac were exiting the Great Hall following their exam. “That was quite literally the most painful hour of my life.”

“What even _was_ that?” Courfeyrac replied angrily. “They can’t test us on things they’ve never taught us!”

“Such is the way, I guess. They want us to get our butts into gear and do some extra-curricular reading.” Enjolras turned to Courfeyrac, his eyes wild. “I’m going to go and do some now.” Before Courfeyrac could stop him, he sprinted away towards the stairs to the library.

“Hey.”

Courfeyrac spun around, to see Theodule leaning against a pillar. “Oh, hey. How are you?” He’d never liked the guy – an arrogant daddy’s boy if ever there was one – but he’d never been the type to be rude to an authority figure.

“Good, thank you.” The older boy smiled. “Ready for practice next week? I hope you lads have all been putting the hours in.”

“We’ve been trying, but, you know, with exams and all – “

“That’s not an excuse.” Theodule’s eyes hardened. “Remember, I’m expecting you all to have an improved 2k time by the end of the week. Pass that on to the others, if you will.”

“Okay,” Courfeyrac replied, his voice a little steely. “I’ll make sure it happens.”

“Thanks, Courfeyrac. Oh, hey – I heard from someone that you’re planning to run for Club Captain next year.”

“Yeah?” Courfeyrac replied, crossing his arms defensively.

“Well, I just want to give you a word of warning. The last second-year to take on the job was in 2011, and – well, we all know what happened then. It’s not that I don’t think you can do it – but I’m just saying _take care.”_ Theodule smiled icily. “Right, I’d better be going. I’m meeting my cousin for coffee. Marius Pontmercy, he’s in your year. Do you know him?”

“No. See you around, Theodule,” Courfeyrac called as the boy strolled away. “ _You arrogant prick,”_ he continued under his breath. Was Theodule planning to run for club captain again? That was the only explanation for the older boy’s intimidation tactics.

Well, Courfeyrac wasn’t going to let it get to him. Not today. Hiking his satchel further up onto his shoulder, he followed Enjolras in the direction of the library.

***

**_Text, Combeferre to Cosette, 4.57pm_ **

_Hi, is this Cosette? It’s Combeferre – you may remember me, I’m friends with your father? He gave me your number – not for nefarious purposes, I swear! Just for a chat if you need one_ _J_

Combeferre sent the text and immediately wanted to knock himself out with a textbook. Could an opening text _be_ any more awkward? He’d put a _smiley face,_ for god’s sake. _Non-ironically._

When his phone buzzed, he ignored it for a few minutes out of embarrassment before picking it up and reading the message.

**_Text, Cosette to Combeferre, 5.03pm_ **

_Hi, Combeferre! I remember – weren’t you the one that Dad bought home at 3am because you looked underfed?_

**_Text, Combeferre to Cosette, 5.05pm_ **

_That’s me – much better fed now, though, thanks to an acquaintance with Valjean! How did you find the exam?_

**_Text, Cosette to Combeferre, 5.09pm_ **

_Absolutely horrendous. I’ve never experienced anything so tragic in my whole life, I’ll be lucky to get a pass on that._

**_Text, Cosette to Combeferre, 5.10pm_ **

_I’ve got to go – my break is ending – but I’ll talk to you later, yeah? Thanks for texting!_ _J_

Combeferre found himself smiling. Cosette was one of those people who you couldn’t help but like; she was infectiously cheerful, as he’d found out on that one morning at Valjean’s house. She’d breezed confidently into the kitchen in her pyjamas and helped herself to a pancake off the pile that Valjean had been making him, before sitting and making conversation for two hours while Combeferre bolted down everything he was being fed (he’d not had a solid meal for three days by that point – he’d never been the best cook, and he was always so busy with uni work that he just… _forgot._ )

It was nice to have friends – not that his flatmates weren’t his friends, of course, but the relationship was…different.

He wondered how Courfeyrac was doing.

***

“So, Theodule had a right go at Courfeyrac today by the sounds of it,” Enjolras said, stirring milk into his Americano. Grantaire and he had gone to one of the coffee shops down the road from campus in order to get away from the library at uni – it was absolutely _rammed,_ but that, Enjolras felt, gave them a little bit of intimacy. “He texted me multiple times telling me how angry he was about it.”

“That’s the way of things around Theodule. He’s a dick.” Grantaire was emptying sugar packets into his cappuccino – three, four, _five,_ Enjolras counted with amazement. “Always has been. Did I tell you that he –“

“- threw a fresher in the river last year for crabbing during a race?” Enjolras had heard the story multiple times – it was like Grantaire had a vendetta against the captain. “Yeah. It’s just terrible. How has the student union let him be in charge all this time?”

“They’re scared of him – scared of his family, too. They own half of Derbyshire, so I’m told.”

“That would kind of make sense.” Enjolras followed Grantaire over to a secluded table in the corner, before taking a deep breath and taking the plunge. “Why do you hate him so much?”

“Who _doesn’t_ hate him?” Grantaire replied, avoiding Enjolras’ eyes as he sat down. “He’s a prick.”

“There’s something more than that, though. It’s like he’s personally insulted _you.”_ Enjolras reached across the table and took Grantaire’s hand. “Look, if you don’t want to tell me, it’s fine. It’s just – “

“I wanted to go for Novice Men’s captain this year,” Grantaire muttered, his eyes still focused on his coffee. “Like. _Really_ wanted to. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Enjolras asked. “You’d have been brilliant!”

“You’re missing the point.” Grantaire sighed. “I didn’t go for it because Theodule stopped me from doing it.”

“How could he _stop_ you?” Enjolras felt a touch of anger creep into his voice. “You’re a free human being, aren’t you?”

“He _stopped_ me by blackmailing me. He said – he said that if I became novice Captain he’d tell everyone about – “ Grantaire seemed to bring himself up short. “I’ll tell you another time.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. You need to unlock relationship level 20 for _that_ to happen.” A small smile appeared on Grantaire’s face. “And, as it happens, mister, you’ve only made it to level 5.”

Enjolras wanted to know. What had Theodule _done_ to Grantaire? But he knew that pressing the issue would only make it worse, so he suppressed the rage he was feeling and smiled. “What can I do to level up?”

Grantaire simply gave him a characteristically lascivious wink.

A waitress spotted the pair of them and came over, stopping in front of their table. “Is there anything I can help you guys with right now?” she asked, smiling. The name-badge on her shirt read _Cosette._ “As you can see, we’re pretty busy tonight, so service might be a little slow.”

“No, I think we’re okay.” Realising that he was still holding Grantaire’s hand, Enjolras’ face turned red. “Um, thanks?”

“No problem. You guys are a really cute couple, by the way.” The waitress – _Cosette_ – grinned. “Give me a shout if you want a refill.”

“Will do,” Enjolras replied.

“Aw, babe, you’re blushing,” Grantaire said teasingly, as soon as Cosette was far enough away not to hear them. “Do I embarrass you?”

“Not at all,” Enjolras replied, smiling and looking down at his coffee, missing Grantaire’s face flooding with relief.  

***

**_Text, Joly to Courfeyrac, 8.09pm_ **

_!!!_

_Enjolras!! is on a date!! ten meters away from us!!_

_[picture message]_

**_Text, Courfeyrac to Joly, 10.45pm_ **

_oh my GOD_

_where are you_

_I wanna come see_

**_Text, Joly to Courfeyrac, 10.46pm_ **

_some place called Thenardiers_

_do_

_we have room at our table_

**_Text, Courfeyrac to Joly, 10.47pm_ **

_I’m THERE_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while! i've been on placement for the last two weeks, and was spending 17 hours of each day hauling sheep around, hence the long gap between chapters. hope you're all having a lovely spring so far!

Enjolras still hadn’t quite forgiven his flatmates for gatecrashing his date with Grantaire, but had taken it all in good grace.

“After all,” he said amicably, from his seat on Courfeyrac’s bed, “I was keeping it a secret. It’s only natural that you were curious.”

“But _why?”_ Courfeyrac’s mind was blown. He told Enjolras _everything,_ regardless of whether he wanted to hear it or not, and here was Enjolras keeping this enormous secret from him. “I wouldn’t have teased you or anything.”

“I wanted - I _want_ to take it slowly. It’s still early days. And Grantaire - “ Enjolras sighed, remembering their conversation from the other night. “I think he’s….you know, damaged goods. He’s not a happy guy.”

“And you want to change that?”

“No, not really.” Enjolras sighed again, even more deeply, as if exasperated. “I _like_ the fact that he - he _knows_ so much, that he’s older, that he knows where he wants to be in life. I mean, _I_ don’t. I have no idea. And it’s kind of comforting to be around someone who has it sort-of together.”

“I can understand that.” Courfeyrac gave his friend a tentative smile. “I think that’s why - I mean, I understand.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras replied, smiling back. “I’m sorry for not telling you that we were - well, not dating, but seeing each other. I should have - you’ve always been so honest with me.”

“We’re different people - always have been, always will be. Just, next time, maybe give me a bit of warning before I have to find out through _Joly_ that you have a boyfriend.”

“And what’s wrong with me?” Joly piped up from the corner, where he was poring over a neurology textbook. “I’m a reliable source of information!”

“Not like _that._ Just - Enjolras needs to be a bit more selective about where he goes for coffee,” Courfeyrac said, smiling. “I mean, if _you_ three frequent Thénardiers, it can hardly be the most anti-capitalist and morally upstanding café in this town.”

“Rude.” Enjolras stood up and stretched. “I’m off to see Grantaire.”

Courfeyrac almost fell off his chair. “ _Really?_ Can I come?”

“No,” Enjolras replied, giving him a severe look. “Courfeyrac, I love you, but this is all new and I don’t want to - “

“-scare Grantaire off by properly introducing him to the creepy friend who literally screamed when he saw the pair of you having coffee?” Courfeyrac grinned widely. “Fair enough. I’ll see you later, man.”

Enjolras smiled gratefully and retreated. Joly finally looked up from his textbook as the door shut. “Now, not to detract from your proud father moment, but _what are you going to do about Combeferre?”_

“I don’t know!” Courfeyrac wailed, falling despairingly onto his bed. “I added him on Facebook last night and he accepted me, but I don’t know whether to send him a message or -“

“Just do it!” Joly cried, shutting the book and throwing it onto the floor. “What’s the worst that could happen now?”

“Plenty!” Courfeyrac replied. “What if he - I don’t know - well, I don’t know! What if he’s changed his mind?”

“I’m willing to bet my entire student loan that that hasn’t happened.”

“Shall I message him, then?”

“Why are you even asking?” Standing up in a rather wobbly fashion, Joly climbed onto the bed beside Courfeyrac as he opened up his laptop. “What are you going to say?”

“Hi? I don’t know,” Courfeyrac said, absorbed in opening up Facebook. “God, why is the WiFi so slow?”

“All of our rent goes towards the decorating, evidently,” Joly replied, gesturing at the patch of mould growing in one corner of Courfeyrac’s room. “Why don’t you do something about that, by the way?”

“Oh. My. God.” Courfeyrac was fixated on his screen.

“What’s wrong?”

He turned to Joly with a delighted smile. “Combeferre messaged me first!”

***

**_Message, Combeferre to Courfeyrac, 4.06pm_ **

_Hey! Sorry if this is weird, but it seems weirder not to get in touch. How are you?_

**_Message, Courfeyrac to Combeferre, 4.56pm_ **

_I’m so sorry this is late! But yeah, I’m good thank you, how are you?_

**_Message, Combeferre to Courfeyrac, 4.58pm_ **

_I’m ok - still struggling to come to terms with inevitably having failed that exam though…._

**_Message, Courfeyrac to Combeferre, 5.02pm_ **

_It was rank, wasn’t it? All my flatmates have been revising ever since, I feel bad._

**_Message, Combeferre to Courfeyrac, 5.05pm_ **

_It was literally the worst thing that I’ve ever come across._

_Are you going into lectures tomorrow?_

**_Message, Courfeyrac to Combeferre, 5.07pm_ **

_Most likely, although nutrition is hardly the most riveting of subjects. I’ve got a tutorial, anyway, so I’d better go in._

**_Message, Combeferre to Courfeyrac, 5.10pm_ **

_I’ll see you there, then, I guess! Yeah, it’s hard to muster up the enthusiasm for a 9.am lecture on the merits of fish meal._

**_Message, Courfeyrac to Combeferre, 5.11pm_ **

_Tell me about it. Almost as riveting as Attack of the Clones, to be honest._

**_Message, Combeferre to Courfeyrac, 5.12pm_ **

_Say what you want - I liked that movie._

**_Message, Courfeyrac to Combeferre, 5.15pm_ **

_Nothing happened in it! Plus, Jar-Jar._

**_Message, Combeferre to Courfeyrac, 5.17pm_ **

_The whole thing reads a lot differently when you consider Jar-Jar as a Sith Lord._

**_Message, Courfeyrac to Combeferre, 5.20pm_ **

_Oh man, that theory changed my life. Although, to be fair, Star Wars changed my life too._

**_Message, Combeferre to Courfeyrac, 5.21pm_ **

_We should watch them together sometime? The movies, I mean._

Combeferre waited. And waited. Oh god. He’d made such a massive mistake.

Why did he assume that someone like Courfeyrac would be interested enough in Star Wars (and in Combeferre himself, for that matter) to want to sit through a fifteen-hour movie marathon with him? It was hard enough making most people sit still for long enough to watch _one_ film, let alone _six._

He was about to message again and make some joke about how he hadn’t been serious, when another notification came through. Seizing his phone, he opened the chat, his heart pounding.

**_Message, Courfeyrac to Combeferre, 5.41pm_ **

_Ahh sorry my pasta was boiling over! I’d love to. Are you free this weekend?_

Combeferre couldn’t help but let out a little _whoop!_ of excitement. Was this a date? He didn’t even care. Courfeyrac was coming over. He was going to watch Star Wars with the most attractive boy on campus. The terminology of the thing could have been completely wrong for all he cared.

He had a date with Courfeyrac.

***

“I have a date with Combeferre!”

Joly blinked sleepily as Courfeyrac came racing back into the room and started doing a little jig of excitement. “Wha-?”

“Combeferre! He asked me to watch Star Wars with him!” Courfeyrac was beaming. “And I said yes!”

“Oh my god!” somebody shrieked, and, all of a sudden, Musichetta came barrelling into the room and tackled Courfeyrac around the waist, bringing them both to the floor in a pile of giggles. “Courfeyrac is going on a _date!”_

 _“_ I’m going on a _date!”_ Courfeyrac shouted gleefully, looking up at the ceiling. And not just any date - a Star Wars date with the most gorgeous guy at uni. “This is the best day of my life.”

“I’m so proud of you!” Joly cried, joining in the pile on the floor. “My padawan has taken control of his destiny.”

Courfeyrac was too happy to point out that, in their relationship, he was _obviously_ the master to Joly’s padawan. “What am I going to _wear?”_

“Clothes?”

“Nothing?” Musichetta’s response earned her a chorus of _ayyyyy’s._

Courfeyrac jumped up from the floor and started pacing backwards and forwards. “Clothes is good. Sounds good. All good. Ahh!”

He’d never been so happy. He knew it was silly to get so excited over what could have just been a platonic friendship meetup thing, but something told him that this - whatever _this_ was - was something more than just friendship.

Reaching up to shut his curtains, he took one, lingering look over at Combeferre’s room, where the curtains were also drawn. It was funny how you could be so close to someone but yet so far away.

***

**_Whatsapp, Combeferre to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 6.07pm_ **

_Nobody freak out, but I have a date with Courfeyrac._

**_Whatsapp, Éponine to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 6.07pm_ **

_WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NOBODY FREAK OUT?!_

**_Whatsapp, Feuilly to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 6.08pm_ **

_YES_

**_Whatsapp, Bahorel to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 6.08pm_ **

_GET IN THERE FERRE_

**_Whatsapp, Marius to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 6.09pm_ **

_Yay Combeferre!_

***

Valjean looked up from his paper worriedly as he heard the door unlock. Cosette was late.

“Papa, you didn’t have to wait up!” she said earnestly, coming bustling into the kitchen with a carrier bag slung over her arm. “I’m perfectly fine getting home by myself, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“Why are you back so late?” he asked, standing up and taking the bag, which he knew would contain the basic groceries that he usually forgot to buy, from her and placing it carefully on the table. “Did the Thénardiers keep you behind for some reason?”

“No - I guess I just was walking more slowly than usual.” Cosette turned towards the counter to hide her blush. “I’ve not got lectures tomorrow morning, you see, so there was no need to get home quite so quickly.”

“Just - “ Valjean sighed, before suddenly spotting a bruise on the back of Cosette’s arm and stiffening. How could he explain this to his daughter, who would see his fear as him trying to keep her from being her own woman? “There’s danger in the streets tonight.”

“There’s danger out there _every_ night, and have I ever once encountered it? No.” Cosette, seeing Valjean’s concerned face, stepped over and hugged him tight. “Papa, I’m not a little girl any more. You don’t have to be scared for me.” Kissing him on the cheek, she picked up her satchel from where she’d dropped it on the floor and went skipping up the tiny staircase that led to her bedroom.

Valjean watched her go, his face contorted with worry. “Maybe it’s not only you that I’m scared for,” he said, quietly.

***

“Ferre, I have something to tell you. Promise you won’t laugh?”

Combeferre looked up from his novel to see Marius standing in front of him, wringing his hands. It was the next day, and nobody had lectures until 1pm, so they were both still in the flat, having a leisurely morning off. “I won’t laugh. What is it?”

Marius took this as a cue to sit down in what had to be the most dramatic way possible. “I met Cosette again last night.”

“You did?” Combeferre said, surprised. “How?”

“She was coming back from her shift at the café, and I was just leaving Mabeuf’s place and…I don’t - I knocked her over on my bike.”

“Now, that’s _one_ way to sweep her off her feet…”

“She was fine!” Marius cried. “And she understood - it was dark and grim. But, anyway, we got talking, and I walked her back to her house. She lives above that shop - oh, what’s it called - Valjean’s place? And she said that she was sorry that she never texted me back, but she lost my number and hadn't seen me around uni after that.”

“Oh my god,” Combeferre said, sitting up. “I’ve been such an idiot.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your Cosette is the same as my Cosette - well, not _my_ Cosette, but - I know Valjean, her father, and he gave me her number. I’ve met her briefly while I’ve been drunk and hungry.” Combeferre smiled. “Marius, you couldn’t do better.”

“What!?” Marius yelped as if he’d been electrocuted. “You knew her all this time? Did you _tell_ her about me?”

“No!” Combeferre protested. “I didn’t even know they were the same person!”

“Well, that’s alright then.” Marius relaxed back into his chair, relieved. “She just - I’ve never met a girl like her, much less a girl like her who - oh, man - Ferre, she’s amazing. We’re going out on Saturday.”

“You actually summoned up the courage to talk to her? Marius, you sly fox.” Combeferre smiled warmly. “I’m happy for you, pal.”

Marius beamed back. “Now all that’s left to do is to pair up Éponine, and the whole flat will be accounted for.”

“What about Bahorel and Feuilly?”

Marius gave him a concerned look. “Combeferre, have you not noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“They’ve been in love for _weeks. Months,_ even, but neither of them will do anything about it because they’re scared of - I don’t know, _flat-cest_ or something. Me and Éponine have been betting on the outcome almost since we arrived here.”

“No way.” Combeferre hadn’t even known that they were both attracted to men, for god’s sake. “You’re kidding.”

“Sadly, no. And they’re both too noble to consider telling the other what they’re feeling.” Marius sighed. “It’s frustrating.”

“Tell me about it. By the way, talking of Éponine - her parents run the café that Cosette works at.”

“No!” Marius’ eyes widened to saucers. “That’s too much of a coincidence. I’ll ask Cosette about it on Saturday.”

Combeferre thought about mentioning the whole criminal-underworld story, but something in the boy’s face warned him off. Marius wouldn’t understand how sensitive an issue it was, not only for Éponine and Cosette, but also for Valjean, and it wasn’t Combeferre’s place to give that information out, anyway.

“Want to go for pizza later?” he asked instead. “Éponine and Feuilly were both on board.”

“Sure,” Marius replied, standing up. “I’ll see you in a bit, Ferre.”

After Marius had left the room, a _ping!_ came through on Combeferre’s phone. He unlocked it, smiling, to find a new message from Courfeyrac.

**_Message, Courfeyrac to Combeferre, 11.03am_ **

_Great! So I’ll see you at this time on Saturday?_

**_Message, Combeferre to Courfeyrac, 11.04am_ **

_I’ll bring popcorn._


	8. Chapter 8

“Today’s the day!” Courfeyrac sang to himself, grabbing his phone off his bedside table. It was 9am, and he’d risen nice and early (relatively early, anyway) in order to clean his room up a bit for Combeferre’s visit. It seemed so silly to be this nervous about a casual Star Wars marathon ( _with benefits?)_ given that he’d seen, and talked to, Combeferre at uni the day before.

 _But,_ Courfeyrac reasoned, as he scrolled through his daily email from _The Guardian_ with the news headlines summarized in it, _this was entirely different._ He was going to have a gorgeous guy in his room. For many hours. With the natural aphrodisiac of Ewan McGregor’s face added into the mix. He could hardly wait.

***

**_YikYak, 9.53am_ **

_machete method, episode order, or release order for star wars?_

_**reply, 9.59am**_

**** _machete, definitely._

_**reply, 10.03am**_

**** _episode order, but skip the phantom menace_

_**reply, 10.10am**_

**** _why does everyone hate TPM ffs_

***

Combeferre, as usual, rolled out of bed, put his glasses on, yawned a couple of times, and wandered over to the window. With his usual practised movement, he yanked the curtains apart, and peered upwards at the sky, despite the fact that he was anticipating spending the next twelve hours enclosed in one very small room with Courfeyrac. _Oh my god._ He so wasn’t ready for this.

Opening up his laptop, he opened his usual playlist with a hint of guilt. Jean-Prouvaire had been on at him for a couple of weeks, asking to come and visit, but Combeferre had had so little time or energy to reply (or to accommodate the extremely feisty and easily distracted writer) that he had simply been ignoring or putting off Jehan’s messages. Resolving to talk to his friend later, he pressed play and began the process of waking up.

He turned the shower on with trepidation; given the archaic nature of the university halls of residence and, in particular, the age of Combeferre’s bathroom, he was never quite sure, day-to-day, if it would spatter him with boiling water, release a torrent of glacial run-off, or simply refuse to start. Luckily, today was a glacial run-off day, and he was able to climb into a lukewarm shower a couple of minutes later.

The music was still playing, and Combeferre hummed along as he shampooed his hair.

_“This is the first day of my life….swear I was born right in the doorway…”_

Once he was done, he stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and meandered back into the bedroom, his toothbrush in his mouth. It had started to rain outside. Bother. Combeferre had never liked the rain.

He agonized over his chest of drawers for almost ten minutes before succumbing to his geeky inside voice and pulling on a Star Wars t-shirt, with a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a cardigan. Examining himself in the mirror, he had to admit that he looked…well, okay. Not like he’d tried too hard, but not too slouchy, either. He didn’t want to give Courfeyrac the wrong impression.

The music had taken a turn for the worse. Combeferre had never listened to the playlist for this long before, and it was progressively getting weirder and weirder. Some of them weren’t even on Jehan’s _radar,_ let alone his list of recommended songs. Combeferre, however, loved most of them - each one of them was one of his guilty pleasures. How had Jehan known? Skipping ahead a little, he put _Walking On Sunshine_ on and started singing along as he rootled in his drawer for a pair of socks, dancing a little as he did so.

 _“_ Not your usual tunes, Ferre,” Éponine commented from the (now) open doorway.

He jumped about a mile in the air, and took a couple of seconds to compose himself before turning around. “Morning, Ép. Sneaky entrance.”

“My mission in life.” Closing the door, she came wondering into the room before flopping down on the bed. “Okay, so, this is a rare thing, and you should definitely remember this moment because it will _never_ happen again. I need your help.”

“Éponine Thénardier needs my help?” Combeferre raised a hand to his forehead and fell back in a fake swoon. “Oh, glory be!”

“You can stop with the sarcasm.” Éponine sighed. “I’m sorry I’m being so rude. I know you have a date today, so I won’t keep you long. I just don’t know what to do.”

“What’s the problem?” Combeferre asked, sitting down on his desk chair. “Parent trouble?” Despite deciding not to spill her family secrets to Marius, that didn’t mean that he didn’t want to find out as much about them as possible. “You can tell me anything, Ép.”

“It’s about Marius, actually.”

“What about him?” A thrill of fear ran through him. Had Marius angered the Mafia in some way? Were Éponine’s family out for his blood because he’d run over one of their waitresses?

“You have to promise not to laugh.”

Maybe not a Mafia plot, then. “On my life.”

Éponine fell back onto the bed and grabbed a pillow, covering her face with it and letting out a groan of frustration. “I maybe have…like…a statistically significant crush on him. And this is _strictly classified,_ Ferre. No telling Feuilly.”

“I would never.” A _crush?_ On _Marius?_ In Combeferre’s eyes, that was comparable to having a crush on Eddie the Eagle, but he kept his mouth shut. “And why do you need my help?”

“I don’t even know. I think I just wanted to tell someone.”

“So you don’t want to…I don’t know, pursue this?” Combeferre reached over to touch her leg, before thinking the better of it. “You never know, it may come to fruition.”

“It won’t. He’s only got eyes for Cosette, darling, perfect Cosette.” Éponine threw the pillow onto the floor and gazed up at the ceiling. “I mean, she’s a lovely girl. She works for my parents, did you know?”

“I did know.”

“A lovely girl,” Éponine repeated, rolling over so that she was face-down on the duvet. “Any guy would be lucky to have her, and Marius is a complete idiot most of the time so he’s _doubly_ lucky to have gotten this far.”

“Did he tell you he ran her over on his bike the other night?” Combeferre grinned.

“No, but that’s comforting.” She ran her hands through her straight brown hair. “You’re a good friend, Combeferre. Does anyone ever tell you that?”

“No, actually.” It was a new feeling to be appreciated. “Thank you.”

“No worries. On another note, Marius told me that you were never made aware of our Feuilly and Bahorel sweepstake. Would you like to cash in?”

Combeferre stood up and started pacing back and forth. “No, I’m all right. But, I suppose I don’t really see it.”

“You don’t? The longing glances, the abrupt jealously, the constant favours?”

“I thought they were just good friends.”

“You thought wrong, Combeferre.” When he looked back at Éponine, she was staring out of the window at the rain, her face etched with indescribable sadness. “You thought wrong.” Standing up abruptly, she left the room.

Combeferre was left there, in his date clothes, with the worst song imaginable playing over the top of his thoughts.

_“Well, well, well, you…you make my dreams come true!”_

***

“ _BABY GIVE IT UP, GIVE IT UP, BABY GIVE IT UP!”_

Courfeyrac was singing in the shower at the top of his lungs. Everybody in the flat would already be up, he knew, and, sometimes, there was nothing like a bit of a rowing-club anthem to wake you up. He’d found this playlist listed under the _Morning_ category on Spotify, and had listened to it a lot over the last few weeks.

As he dried off, he examined himself cursorily in the mirror. Hair was still wet, but would dry into freshly-washed curls, just the way Courfeyrac liked it. Abs needed a bit of work, but his shoulders and quads were strong - he was at the peak of his fitness in terms of rowing, which felt amazing. The annual general meeting, where the captains for the next year would be decided, was in just under a month, and he had started writing his application with Enjolras the night before.

**_Whatsapp, Enjolras to FLAT CHAT, 11.15am_ **

_Can anyone else hear a cat dying in the recent vicinity or is it Courfeyrac singing in the shower again_

**_Whatsapp, Musichetta to FLAT CHAT, 11.21am_ **

_Unless a dying cat emits the ambient strains of_ Ghetto Gospel, _I would assume that it’s Courf_

**_Whatsapp, Joly to FLAT CHAT, 11.25am_ **

_I miss_ Ghetto Gospel. _He’s moved onto_ Walking on Sunshine.

**_Whatsapp, Courfeyrac to FLAT CHAT, 11.40am_ **

_I find this conversation offensive to my singing skillz_

**_Whatsapp, Bossuet to FLAT CHAT, 11.41am_ **

_Get back to us when you’re not still singing along to_ Wham! _in the 21 st century_

***

“Hey.” Combeferre was standing outside when Courfeyrac opened the door, his hair still slightly damp from the shower.

“Hey!” Courfeyrac took a couple of seconds just to _look_ at Combeferre. He was wearing a t-shirt with the _Return of the Jedi_ DVD cover design on it, which only just hid his impressive musculature (which he _knew_ existed thanks to that impromptu strip-tease he’d witnessed just a few weeks ago) from Courfeyrac’s sight. “How are you doing?” Remembering his manners, he stepped aside to let Combeferre into the room.

“I’m okay, thanks. How are you doing?” Combeferre walked past him and into the room, looking around curiously at the few things that Courfeyrac had absently pinned on the walls during Fresher’s Week.

“I’m well, yeah.” Courfeyrac cursed himself inwardly. Why was this so _awkward?_ “Apologies for how clean this place is - I thought that I might as well make a good impression, but it doesn’t look nearly as interesting now as it did before.”

“No worries,” Combeferre replied, with a deep laugh that almost made Courfeyrac shiver with its intensity. “At least your room is relatively disorganised - mine’s so _regimented._ I keep meaning to change it all up, but the time just never manifests.”

“Tell me about it. The only reason I got anything done this morning was that I hauled myself out of bed three hours earlier than normal, and it was a _struggle.”_ Courfeyrac gestured around. “Anyway, this is it. Home, for the next four months anyway.”

“And then we’ll be moving out into our own flats. It seems like only yesterday that we arrived here.”

“I know, right? First year has gone so fast.” Courfeyrac smiled. “Would you like a drink or something?”

“Cup of tea?” Combeferre asked, smiling a crooked smile back. “I’ve not had one this morning, and it’s killing me inside.”

“Coming right up.” Leaving Combeferre to have a snoop around. Courfeyrac left the room and went meandering down to the kitchen, where Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta had evidently been eagerly anticipating his arrival.

“How’s it going?” Joly asked eagerly. “Are you two getting married yet?”

“Not quite. I’m making him a cup of tea.” Filling the kettle, Courfeyrac put it on to boil and took a seat at the counter. “It was awkward to start with, but -“

“It was bound to be, though. You guys have had a weird relationship, after all.” Musichetta smiled encouragingly. “But it’s going alright now, though?”

“It’s going alright.” Courfeyrac smiled. “I think.”

“You’ll be fine,” Bossuet said, nodding seriously as Courfeyrac finished off making the tea and started to head back out, before shouting “Remember to use protection!” at the top of his voice.

“Where’s Enjolras today?” Musichetta asked, once Courfeyrac had left.

“Out with Grantaire again, I think.” Joly pushed his empty bowl of cereal away. “I’m not sure about the pair of them. Grantaire seems like a nice - if damaged - guy, but Enjolras…he’s obsessed. I don’t know what it is - it’s almost like he thinks he can _save_ Grantaire or something.”

“It’s not a good relationship, anyway,” Bossuet replied pensively. “But it’s not our business to judge. After all, we’re in a promiscuous and decadent relationship which is purely damaging to society.”

“What _will_ the children think?” Joly cried, his eyes full of mischief. “And, by the way, did I mention that I love you both?”

***

“So, what order do you want to watch them in?” Courfeyrac asked. They were both seated on the bed, with Courfeyrac’s laptop balanced precariously on the desk chair. “I was thinking episode order, but I’m open to suggestions.”

“You barbarian!” Combeferre gasped in mock horror. “Everyone knows that the Machete Method is the way to go. Although I never did agree with cutting out Episode One.”

“Why not? It’s useless in terms of plot, and getting emotionally attached to Qui-Gonn ruins lives.”

Combeferre blushed. “I have a fondness for the pod-racing scenes. Plus, it establishes Padme and Anakin’s relationship, _and_ it’s the main basis for the Sith Lord Binks theory.”

“Fair. But I’m blaming you if we get too tired to watch Return of the Jedi.” Courfeyrac smiled. “Opinions on tacking on The Force Awakens, by the way?”

“If we’re not sick of each other by then, then absolutely. Poe Dameron is the bomb.”

“Right?! Actually, that whole movie is the bomb. We’re definitely going to make it through.”

“Yeah?”

Combeferre turned to see Courfeyrac grinning wonkily at him. Smiling back, he reached over and pressed play on the laptop. “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to clarify - eddie the eagle has a special place in my heart as a lovable idiot. i have nothing against him. (thanks so much for sticking with this story, by the way! it's been one of my most popular fics ever and you are all brilliant, every single one of you.) 
> 
> you can find combeferre's playlist here;   
> https://open.spotify.com/user/11167442319/playlist/0w4SDXp28EcCTF6HU56c2n


	9. Chapter 9

Combeferre was beginning to lose feeling in his arm, but he didn’t care because the arm in question was currently curled around Courfeyrac’s shoulder as the other boy leant against him, eyes fixed on _Revenge of the Sith._

“ _You were my brother, Anakin! I loved you!”_ Ewan McGregor shouted, his face streaked with tears. Combeferre had always had a crush on Obi-Wan, even back when he’d thought that he was straight. Courfeyrac, beside him, seemed to be struggling with his emotions, reaching up to wipe his eyes with one sleeve.

“Are you okay?” Combeferre asked softly, not quite knowing what to do. He didn’t know how to deal with this. After all, he barely ever cried himself; consoling someone was so far out of his comfort zone that it may as well have been on Mars.

“I’m fine. This bit is sad, that’s all.” Courfeyrac sniffed, and Combeferre felt an arm reach across his stomach as Courfeyrac hugged him. “Are you cold? Or hungry?”

Combeferre, in the darkness, let his face break into a smile. “No, it’s okay. It’s wonderful.”

***

**_Whatsapp, Enjolras to FLAT CHAT, 11.20pm_ **

_Has anyone seen Courf? He’s not answering his phone._

**_Whatsapp, Musichetta to FLAT CHAT, 11.21pm_ **

_He has a gentleman caller in his room._

**_Whatsapp, Enjolras to FLAT CHAT, 11.27pm_ **

_Ah._

**_Whatsapp, Feuilly to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 11.32pm_ **

_Has anyone seen Combeferre? He’s not answering his phone._

**_Whatsapp, Bahorel to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 11.40pm_ **

_he’s on a hot date ;)_

**_Whatsapp, Marius to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 11.41pm_ **

_with Courfeyrac??_

**_Whatsapp, Feuilly to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 11.45pm_ **

_They’re watching Star Wars, I believe_

_Can I borrow some scissors off someone?_

**_Whatsapp, Bahorel to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 11.45pm_ **

_Sure, gimme two seconds_

***

“I had a really good time, Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said, smiling. He was standing outside the door of his flat; Courfeyrac had insisted on walking him back across the quad once they’d finished their marathon. They hadn’t watched _The Force Awakens,_ but had set a date to watch it in a week’s time. “Thank you for having me.”

“No worries. I loved it.” Courfeyrac was confused. There were some mixed signals going on here. He’d assumed that Combeferre thought that this was a date, but, now, the man was backing away from him. Had he thought that this was just a bit of platonic snuggling on the way to a good friendship.

 _I mean, don’t get me wrong,_ Courfeyrac thought. He wanted to be friends with Combeferre, but he also wanted to marry him and have his figurative babies. There was no reason that the two couldn’t happen simultaneously.

But Combeferre was moving towards his door, as if afraid that Courfeyrac would attack him. “I’ll see you at uni on Monday, I guess.”

“Yeah. At uni.” Combeferre’s hand was on the doorknob. Sighing internally, Courfeyrac gave a small smile, his stomach tied up in knots. So he _was_ destined for a life of sitting on his bed, listening to _All By Myself_ and lip-synching along into a bottle of vodka. “Bye, Ferre.”

Combeferre seemed to jump.

“What is it?” Courfeyrac asked curiously.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just - only my flatmates call me Ferre.” Combeferre smiled lopsidedly. “I like it when you call me that, though.”

“Oh.” Courfeyrac couldn’t stand it. He _had_ to know. “Listen, Combeferre. Today - I don’t know what you thought it was, but - “

“No, it’s okay. I understand. I thought it was - something else, but it doesn’t matter.” Was it him, or did Combeferre look a little… _disappointed?_ “I’ll see you soon, Courfeyrac.”

Before Courfeyrac could stop him, Combeferre was through the door. He was left standing there, even more confused than he had been.

What had Combeferre been thinking? Did he want friendship, or something more?

Shaking his head, Courfeyrac retreated. He’d find out next week, no doubt.

Living normally until then was going to be difficult.

***

**_Whatsapp, Combeferre to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 1.12am_ **

_No hot date, apparently. Just platonic._

**_Whatsapp, Éponine to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 1.13am_ **

_Are you ok? Do you need a hug?_

**_Whatsapp, Combeferre to ARCHBISHOP OF BANTERBURY, 1.13am_ **

_No, it’s ok. I wasn’t expecting much more. Night all._

**_Whatsapp, Courfeyrac to FLAT CHAT, 1.42am_ **

_So I’m confused….Combeferre thought this was a friendship thing, not a date thing…help_

**_Whatsapp, Joly to FLAT CHAT, 1.45am_ **

_whaaaaat_

_you watched star wars together for like twelve hours that’s true love_

**_Whatsapp, Courfeyrac to FLAT CHAT, 1.46am_ **

_ikr_

_he evidently doesn’t see it that way though_

**_Whatsapp, Enjolras to FLAT CHAT, 1.48am_ **

_I’m sorry, Courf._

**_Whatsapp, Musichetta to FLAT CHAT, 1.49am_ **

_I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding!? who wouldn’t want a piece of your hot arse_

**_Whatsapp, Courfeyrac to FLAT CHAT, 1.50am_ **

_thanks chetta ;)_

***

Éponine was standing outside Thénardier’s, looking in at the beautiful blonde girl, Cosette, who flitted from table to table like some sort of demented firefly.

She’d first met Cosette when they were ten years old at some local event or another. Éponine, as usual, looked like she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards; her father had just been sent down again, and her mother, running the café by herself, had been keeping Éponine off school regularly to help with the cooking. And there was Cosette, with her taciturn but kind-looking Palestinian father and her beautiful Vietnamese mother, running towards Éponine with blonde locks and butterfly clips flashing everywhere to invite her to play.

And now, here they were. Éponine’s parents were both at large and the café had turned itself around and into the latest hipster craze amongst the local students, and Éponine had left home for what would hopefully be the foreseeable future to make her own way in the world. Meanwhile, Cosette’s mother had died, and she was living above her father’s chicken shop.

It was funny how times changed.

Cosette turned from serving a customer, and looked straight towards where Éponine was stood. Not wanting to be seen, she ducked out of sight. Her shift at Mabeuf’s had just ended; Marius would be taking over right about now. It wasn’t much of a job - he helped the old man translate old letters and leaflets from English into just about every language imaginable, whilst she did the opposite with books that Mabeuf had bought all over the world. It paid the bills, though.

She’d known that GCSE French and Italian would come in useful one day.

Shouldering her rucksack, she turned and began walking away across the square. It was nearly 12am, and the place was thronged with locals and tourists alike enjoying the beautiful weather. It had been sweltering in the basement of the bookshop; she could only praise the Lord that Marius hadn’t come in early, or else he would have seen her in the general state of disarray she was now in.

With a start, she noticed a familiar figure crossing the square in front of her.

“Gavroche!” she yelled, running to catch up with him. “Hey! Gav!”

“Éponine?” the figure shouted back, turning towards her and giving her an enormous grin. “Where’ve you been? We’ve missed you.”

“Uni life is tough - I’m working all the time right now,” Éponine lied through her teeth. “How’s things? Revising hard?”

“Yep.” Gavroche was carrying several binders in his arms. “I’m on the way to the library. Dad’s having a meeting or something in the kitchen and he told me to _get the fuck out_ or something along those lines.”

Éponine’s heart seized up. “Is he at it again?”

“I don’t know. Mum seems to think so, though. She’s been on edge for _ages,_ reckons he’s going to lose the café if he doesn’t settle down.”

“The greedy sod.” The anger began to rise in Éponine again. “Who the _hell_ does he think he is?”

Gavroche shrugged. “It’ll be fine. I mean, if we lose the café, I won’t have to work in it when my exams are over, and that’s something.”

“Look, Gav,” Éponine said, shaking her head. “If you ever need a place to stay, text me, yeah? You can come and stay at mine for a bit.”

“I miss you, Ép.” Her brother suddenly reached out and pulled her into a hug. Éponine noticed, with a hint of sadness, that he was almost taller than her now. “Why don’t you come home?”

“Because Dad’s a twat.” She shrugged. “Now, go and revise. At least if you get good grades you’ll be able to get out of there.”

Gavroche stepped back and gave her a funny little mock salute. “I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon,” she called after him as he walked away again, a twinge of regret piercing her chest. Gavroche and her had always been the closest of the four Thénardier siblings, and to see him going through exactly what she had was difficult to bear.

She started walking quickly, almost breaking into a run, and didn’t stop until the square, and all the memories it contained, was behind her.

***

Courfeyrac was lying on the sofa, listening to _All By Myself_ and lip-synching into a bottle of vodka.

“Do you not feel better now?” Joly asked sympathetically. He and Bossuet were leaning on the counter, watching Courfeyrac with a mixture of amusement and concern.

“I do, _Jolllly_ ,” Courfeyrac replied, over the top of Céline’s key change. “But that doesn’t change the fact that Combeferre’s not into me. That’s _sad.”_

“And you’re _drunk.”_ Enjolras had appeared, and was watching them sternly, a twinkle present in his eye nevertheless. “And we have a 9am lecture tomorrow.”

“And? If I don’t go in, I don’t have to see Combeferre and pretend like we’re best pals.”

“Courfeyrac, you’ve _got_ to go in.” Bossuet’s face was tinged with worry. “You’re starting to miss a fair few lectures. It’s not really that wise.”

“I knoooow, l’Aigle,” Courfeyrac groaned, rolling over and almost dropping his bottle. “Whoops. I just - it’s just tomorrow, okay? I’ll go in on Tuesday.”

“Hmmm.” Courfeyrac knew without looking that the three of them would be exchanging worried glances. “It’s _fine,_ guys. Seriously.”

Enjolras frowned. “ _It_ may be fine, Courfeyrac, but are _you?”_

***

**_Text, Combeferre to Courfeyrac, 8.09pm_ **

_how are you? recovered from yesterday yet?_

**_Text, Combeferre to Courfeyrac, 8.56pm_ **

_I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow._

**_Text, Combeferre to Éponine, 9.30pm_ **

_what do you do when the person you like doesn’t reply to you?_

**_Text, Éponine to Combeferre, 9.56pm_ **

_recognise that maybe you were wrong._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is yet another apology! it's been forever since i last updated - I've been on placement for a while and the sheep began to mess with my brain, so it's taken a full week of sheeplessness for me to get my life sorted out again! thanks for your continued support x x


	10. Chapter 10

Combeferre was unsettled. He’d met Courfeyrac coming out of their second lecture of the day, and had suggested that they go and get some food. The smaller boy was almost utterly impervious to Combeferre’s discontent, chattering away quite happily as they walked down to the bottom floor, where the restaurant was.

They both picked up some soup. Combeferre got a sandwich as well - he was _starving,_ and he had rugby training that night - while Courfeyrac, when asked, described in great detail the food he’d bought with him from uni to avoid paying more than £1.10 for the soup. And, by the time they found a table, he was onto a different subject altogether.

“I think my favourite part has to be the battle on Mustafar,” Courfeyrac said pensively, sitting down at an unoccupied table. “It’s the perfect combination of emotion and brilliantly choreographed fighting. What more could a guy want?”

“Hence why you were in tears, I guess.” Combeferre’s tone was jokey, but the laugh didn’t reach his eyes. He wasn’t _upset,_ per se - just a little bit disappointed that nothing had come of what he’d thought he and Courfeyrac had. After all, it had promised to be…well, _something._

Courfeyrac didn’t seem to notice. “However, does the battle on Mustafar really compare to how perfectly executed Kylo and Rey’s fight is in _The Force Awakens?_ We’ll have the opportunity to -“

“Why didn’t you reply to my texts?” Combeferre interrupted, literally cringing at the sound of his own voice. He sounded like a jealous lover, for Christ’s sake, and Courfeyrac had made it quite clear that the so-called date had meant nothing. He was just being paranoid, surely.

Courfeyrac cleared his throat and looked down sheepishly into his mushroom soup. “Sorry, I fell asleep. And I figured I’d be seeing you today anyway, so there was no point in - ”

“Fell asleep?” At 8pm, when they’d done nothing all day on Saturday except sit and watch films?

“It’s been a long week.” Courfeyrac rubbed his temple with a couple of fingers; sure enough, he had a blinding headache after the alcohol he’d imbibed in a desperate attempt to forget the last part of their awkward goodbye. “Listen, Combeferre, about Saturday.”

“Yes?” Combeferre’s heart began to pound. All around them, people were still talking blithely, unaware that a dramatic revelation was about to take place. “Is everything okay?”

The heat rushed to Courfeyrac’s face. “I just wasn’t sure - look, I mean, I don’t know what it _meant_ to you, but, in a roundabout sort of way, I’m trying to say that - I don’t know. For me, at least, it was a date. I _thought_ it was a date. And it’s totally cool if you’re not looking for the same thing as me or if you’re not even gay, because, hey, _I_ don’t know, it’s not like we’ve actually _had_ that discussion yet, we’ve only known each other _properly_ for like two weeks and _please say something or else I’m going to keep on rambling forever.”_

Combeferre was quiet.

Courfeyrac smiled sadly. “You can just say _no_ if I’ve been totally misreading things.”

“No,” Combeferre said. “I mean, I’m saying no to saying no. I thought that Saturday was a date, but I thought that _you_ didn’t, so I just - “

“Oh my god,” Courfeyrac interrupted. “We’ve been total idiots.”

“We have.” Combeferre smiled gently. “Not gay, though. Bisexual.”

“Cool.” Courfeyrac felt the blush in his cheeks getting redder and redder. “So, Saturday this week’s still on?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss Oscar Isaac in a flight suit for anything.”

Combeferre, not knowing what to do, picked up his spoon and ate a little soup. “Mmm. This is good.”

“I know. They so rarely put any effort into the food here that it’s almost gourmet when they do.” Courfeyrac was drinking his straight out of a takeaway pot with all the enthusiasm of a starving lion. “I might get another pot, actually.”

“And what was all that about cost-efficiency and minimisation of food waste?” Combeferre asked.

“I’ve got rowing this evening; I need something to keep me going. Plus, the committee meeting is straight after.” Courfeyrac’s stomach dropped. He kept forgetting, and then something would remind him and the nerves would kick in again. “I’m running for Boat Club Captain. Fuck.”

“Did you have to write a speech or something?” Combeferre asked, unwrapping his sandwich.

“I applied to the current Captain. Théodule Pontmercy, his name is, and he _hates_ me.” Courfeyrac sighed. “Luckily, he doesn’t have veto power on the captaincy decisions - the whole committee has to decide. But he’s running again, and I feel like they might be intimidated into choosing him again.”

“But that’s terrible!” Combeferre exclaimed. “The process has to be democratic, or it’s not a committee at all. Can’t you complain to the student union?”

“They know that he’s a bully. I think they’re just waiting for him to graduate so that they can get rid of him - it’s not worth the trouble of bringing an academic misconduct case against him, not when the Pontmercy family money is being poured into this institution left, right and centre.”

“What do you mean?” Combeferre frowned.

“There’s _two_ of them here. Théodule and his cousin, Marius.”

To Courfeyrac’s surprise, Combeferre almost spat out a mouthful of soup. “Wait. He’s related to _Marius Pontmercy?”_

“Yeah. Why? Do you know him?”

Combeferre was gaping at Courfeyrac. “He’s one of my flatmates.”

“No kidding! Hang on, then - if you’re in a flat with Marius, you must know Cosette. She rows a bit - she’s running for Novice Women’s Captain, I think.” Courfeyrac leant forward. “Do you?”

“I know Cosette, yeah. Hang on - who do you live with, then?”

“Enjolras, Joly, Musichetta, Bossuet?”

“Oh, I’ve heard of the last three. In a good way, I mean. They’re those vloggers - Three Of A Kind, isn’t it?” Combeferre smiled. “I watch their videos every so often - they’re so funny.”

“Then you’ll have heard stories about Enjolras, the man with a stick up his butt?” Courfeyrac smiled as Combeferre nodded eagerly. “He’s my best friend.”

“No way!” Combeferre shook his head. “I can’t believe this. Do you know Bahorel, Feuilly, or Éponine? Those are my other flatmates.”

“I don’t. But how freaky that we have those other connections.” Courfeyrac finished his soup in one large gulp and put the empty cup down on the table. “It really makes you wonder how much time we spend ignoring the people that walk past us.”

“That was deep,” Combeferre said, his face breaking into a wide smile. “Got any more under your belt?”

“Plenty.” Courfeyrac winked before he could stop himself. “Fuck. Sorry. Living with Musichetta has its repercussions - I can’t _not_ respond to an innuendo now.”

“Very similar to living with Bahorel, then.”

Courfeyrac’s hand was resting, palm down, on the table, as if waiting for something. Combeferre, almost unconsciously, took it, and started playing with Courfeyrac’s fingers.

“You can’t just _do_ that, you know.” Courfeyrac looked like he’d stopped breathing. “You can’t just come along and take someone’s hand. You’ll give me a heart attack one day if you do.”

“Why? Did I scare you? I’m sorry.” Combeferre tried to let go, but was stopped by Courfeyrac’s other hand touching his own.

“No, it’s good. It’s fine.” Courfeyrac looked up at him, big blue eyes shining, with a smile as blinding as the sun. “It’s perfect, in fact.”

“Good.” Combeferre felt like if he died right at that moment, he would die as the happiest man alive. “Anyway - what was it you were saying about Kylo and Rey’s fight?”

As Courfeyrac started to talk again, Combeferre looked down at their interwoven fingers with a mixture of terror and excitement.

This was all new, but that didn’t mean that it was going to be bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter ten, woo! as a reward to myself and to you guys, it was a whole chapter of healthy communication between our two favourite protagonists, because who doesn't love that? 
> 
> side note - thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you all


	11. Chapter 11

“So, I didn’t get it.”

Courfeyrac was trying his best to hold himself together. The committee had called him and Théodule together and had broken the news as gently as they could - they’d gone with the older boy for experience’s sake, since Courfeyrac was only a fresher. The process hadn’t been helped by Théodule leaping up and whooping as soon as they’d said his name, clapping Courfeyrac on the back a little bit too hard in his misplaced enthusiasm. Not only had it hurt, but Courfeyrac, although he hadn’t wanted to show it, was bitterly disappointed.

He’d had his heart set on this for a while now. When he and Enjolras had first discussed their plan, he’d been tentative about it, but, the longer he had thought about it, the more he wanted to do it. The positive change he’d been set to effect as the Club Captain would have done the whole club a whole lot of good, he was sure of it. And Théodule was a _tyrant._

Enjolras almost spat out a mouthful of cider. “Wait. You didn’t get it?” They were sitting in the Union Bar, where the committee meeting was being held. “But what if - “

“The committee’s decided on the Vice-Captain. Can all the applicants step outside, please? We’ll tell you there.” Even as he spoke, Théodule looked smug, and Courfeyrac felt his stomach drop.

A few minutes later, a shocked Enjolras was being bought beers by half of the boat club when Courfeyrac finally managed to fight his way to the bar.

“Vice-Captain, huh?” Courfeyrac said, smiling tentatively. “Well done, Enj.”

“Don’t call me that,” Enjolras replied almost automatically, before tensing up. “Courfeyrac, I’m sorry. And now I have to work with this bastard.”

“Not just you, though. So does everyone.” Courfeyrac couldn’t help but notice, with a little bit of bitterness, that every other Fresher who had applied for a committee position had got it. What on earth did Théodule have against him? “Somebody’ll complain, surely. This can’t be democratic.”

“I don’t know.” Enjolras seemed almost shell-shocked by what had happened. “Courfeyrac, you were clearly the best candidate. _Nobody_ likes Théodule, and fourth-years aren’t even _meant_ to be on the committee.”

“Enjolras, you have to find out what he did.” Courfeyrac wasn’t usually as vindictive as this, but he was upset. And he was _angry,_ angry like he’d never really been before. This wasn’t fair. “Grantaire had a complaint against Théodule, right? Maybe ask him more about it.”

At that, Enjolras finally seemed to meet Courfeyrac’s eye. “I can’t. Grantaire won’t say and I don’t want to force him.”

“This might be the future of our club on the line here, Enjolras.”

Sighing, the blonde dropped his eyes to the bar, where a single shot of vodka awaited him. Squaring his shoulders, he picked it up and knocked it back like the professional he decidedly was not, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and turning to face Courfeyrac. “I can’t promise anything. But I’ll try.”

***

Marius was waiting outside a chicken shop. A _chicken shop._ He was _vegan,_ for God’s sake. Shuffling his feet a little in the unusually icy spring evening wind, he looked upwards mournfully. He knew that girls took a while to get ready, but to be _twenty minutes late_? And now the guy behind the food counter was giving him a nasty look. _Shit._ The roses in his hand now looked decidedly windswept, he noted sadly. He’d got cream ones as well, Cosette’s favourite (according to Éponine, anyway). And now the cream petals that he’d toured every flower shop in town to find were moulting onto the pavement at his feet.

Getting his phone out of his pocket, he unlocked it and rang Cosette. “Come on, pick up,” he said, through his teeth, which were starting to chatter. He’d foolishly thought he’d be alright without a jacket.

“ _Marius?”_ Cosette asked when she picked up after five rings, her voice sleepy. “ _Is everything alright?”_

“I’m fine - are _you_ okay?” Marius couldn’t help but feel concerned. Maybe she’d incapacitated herself with a hair straightener or something. “I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

“ _For what?”_

Marius swallowed nervously. “Um, for you? We’re supposed to be going out tonight.”

“ _I’m fairly sure that’s on Friday, you booby.”_

“Booby?” Marius coughed and turned red. “Is it really? I could have sworn -“

 _“No, definitely Friday. I’m in my pajamas, anyway, so you wouldn’t be able to tempt me out even if it_ was _today.”_ She laughed, sounding a little weary to Marius’ ears. “ _Are you outside_?”

“Yes,” he replied, looking upwards expectantly. Sure enough, a couple of seconds later, a window on the second floor opened and there was Cosette, wearing what looked like a white nightdress, waving merrily out of it. He waved back, making sure that the flowers remained hidden behind his back.

“ _Did you bring flowers?”_ he heard from the phone in his hand. “ _Marius, that’s so kind of you!”_

“You weren’t supposed to see those - they’ve gone really manky now.” Marius shook his head, smiling. “I’ll leave you alone. See you in uni tomorrow?”

“ _Maybe. The café want me to work the early shift, so I’ll see how tired I am.”_ He could almost _hear_ her smiling, that crooked smile with slightly wonky teeth that he adored so much. “ _See you tomorrow, Marius.”_

Ending the call, he looked up again, and waved one last time. Above him, the figure in white gave one last flutter of her fingers before retreating inside and shutting the window with a gentle thud. Smiling, Marius began the walk back to halls, and it took him almost five minutes to realise that, as he went, he was whistling.

***

“So how are your friend doing with that guy?” Grantaire asked. “You know, the nerdy buff one. The whole college is talking about them.”

“Courfeyrac? He’s doing okay, I guess. He’s over at Combeferre’s right now, they’re watching yet another Star Wars movie.” Enjolras rolled his eyes as he delivered Grantaire a cup of tea. “I’ve never understood those things.”

“One day you will. They’re _art.”_ Grantaire snatched up the mug appreciatively and downed half of the tea in one gulp. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an angel?”

“You’d be surprised,” Enjolras quipped, taking a seat on the opposite side of the counter. “So what actually happened to your kettle?”

Grantaire gave him a tortured look. “Don’t even ask. One of the guys in my flat keeps trying to de-limescale it with bleach, and I’m actually scared for my life every time I have to use it. But it’s not worth getting involved with his cleaning methods.”

“Speaking of not getting involved.” Enjolras suddenly become very interested in his mug. “Grantaire, I need to know more about what happened with Théodule and you at the end of last year.”

Grantaire put his mug down with a clang. “ _Need_ to know?”

“It’s Courfeyrac.” Enjolras could feel the lump in his throat swelling. He couldn’t do this leadership thing without Courfeyrac. He _couldn’t._ “He applied for Club Captain and didn’t get it, and Théodule got it _again._ It’s not only against the rules of the boat club for the same person to be captain for two years in a row, it’s against the rules of the student union for any fourth-year to be on the committee of a club. And yet he’s still there.” Swallowing nervously, he continued. “We think there’s something dodgy going on, and we need to compile some evidence before we…you know…act.”

Grantaire was silent for a moment, before beginning to speak. He didn’t make eye contact with Enjolras. “Is it not enough to say that I was blackmailed into withdrawing my application for novice captain?”

“It might be. But, Grantaire - I want to help. I want to understand, and it would help to know what it was he blackmailed you with.” Enjolras reached over and took Grantaire’s hand. “You don’t have to tell me and I _know_ that this is hard for you, and you’ve barely even met Courfeyrac but - “

“I can’t, Enjolras.” The words sounded like they’d been ripped from Grantaire’s throat. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” Standing up, he raised his head for a long moment to look at Enjolras, as if drinking the sight of him in like a man about to be stranded, before shaking his head and hurrying out of the flat.

Tears rose in Enjolras’ eyes for what felt like the second or third time that day. Everything was going wrong. Getting his phone out of his pocket, he did the only thing that felt right.

**_Text, Enjolras to +44783290784_ **

_Dad?_

_I know you’re busy at the moment. This can’t wait._

_I need your help._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this may well be the last update for a little while - i'm about to enter my exam period for realsies (and i, like the characters in this story, attend veterinary school, and thus am currently a shrieking ball of stress). please forgive me x x


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER HAS A TRIGGER WARNING FOR MENTIONS OF SUICIDE - it is in a non-serious context ie. there is no risk of actual suicide to the characters in the story but it is mentioned once about halfway through. There is no real plot development in this chapter but I will outline the events at the bottom anyway so that y'all who don't want to read through the trigger can still keep up! 
> 
> Also warning for sickly romo times.

“My dad’s going to help us.” Enjolras swallowed, the lump in his throat bigger than ever. His father had never helped him with _anything_ before. “I told him - told him about you, about Théodule, about Marius, about Grantaire.”

“Like - _legit_ about Grantaire?” Courfeyrac asked, raising his eyebrows in concern. Enjolras’ father was, he knew, at best, _okay_ with Enjolras’ homosexuality - at worst, he was downright derogatory.

“No - he never would have agreed if he knew I was trying to help my - my boyfriend.” Even those words felt wrong - he hadn’t spoken to Grantaire in over a week. The first three days, he’d resolved to leave him alone - after all, Grantaire had been upset, and probably needed some time to cool off. But, when he’d texted, and then called, on the fourth day, and Grantaire still hadn’t replied by the sixth, he had received the message loud and clear.

Grantaire didn’t want to talk to him, and he didn’t know what to do.

“What’s your dad going to do?”

“He’s a lawyer. If we can find out what Théodule is doing, he will find out if it is illegal and bring charges against him. This has gone on for long enough.”

“Hear hear.” Courfeyrac felt his phone buzz in his pocket with an incoming call. “That’ll be Combeferre. I’ll see you in a bit, Enj.”

“See you in a bit.” Enjolras tried to look happy as Courfeyrac stood up and left the kitchen, answering his phone as he did with a cheery “hey, Ferre!” For the first time ever, he felt a small twinge of envy.

Taking his own phone out, he checked all his apps again. No Snapchat, WhatsApp, message or call from Grantaire, and no social media presence on Facebook or his ridiculously artsy Instagram profile.

Enjolras was lonely. The flat was quiet - Musichetta, Joly and Bossuet were out surveying different bookshops in the area for a YouTube video, and Courfeyrac was locked in his room, no doubt having a wonderful, illuminating conversation with Combeferre.

He decided to go out. It was, after all, a beautiful day - one of those days when spring feels like summer, when the grass is fragrant with rising dust and the sun razes the earth with that peculiar dry warmth, when the sky is deeper blue than the sea. Primrose Hill was nearby, and he resolved to walk to the top and see the view - despite living so close, he’d never actually been.

The walk was nice. He gave £2 to a busker outside Pizza Express, and bought a bottle of Coke from a bodega in the backstreet part of Camden. Somehow, he didn’t feel quite so alone when he was surrounded by people who were equally as alone. Every so often, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket - texts from Courfeyrac, who didn’t know where he was and was evidently concerned that Enjolras was so upset about life that he had headed straight for the nearest bridge and thrown himself off it.

Feeling rather bitter, Enjolras turned his phone off.

The top of Primrose Hill was crowded - evidently, he wasn’t the only one that fancied a view on a Sunday night. The sun was just on the point of setting, casting a pale pink glow across the perfect summer sky, and the benches were full of tourists and teenagers chatting, breathing, _living._

In that small moment, he felt suspended. Nobody had noticed him as he approached the top of the hill, and, as he stood, looking over the whole of London, he felt both overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time, and, worst of all, completely insignificant.

There was an inscription on the stone running around the edge of the viewpoint. With a little bit of deduction due to the presence of people sat on the ledge, he worked out what it said.

 _“I have conversed with the spiritual sun; I saw him on Primrose Hill.”_ He read it aloud, not caring if anyone heard him.

“It’s a good quote, right?”

He knew that voice. Turning around, he came face to face with Grantaire.

“How did you know I was up here?” His voice sounded inhuman, like it didn’t really come from him.

Grantaire smiled tentatively. “I didn’t. I come up here a lot - it’s a good place to think.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, just looking at each other.

“Listen, you don’t have to tell me.” The words came all in a rush. “It’s something that’s really personal to you and it’s not fair of me to demand an explanation. I will support you, whatever you choose.”

“I want to tell you.” Grantaire sighed. “I overreacted the other day, but it’s still going to take me a while to get used to the idea. Are you okay with that?”

“Grantaire, I’m okay for as long as you are with me.” _Fuck._ “That sounded clichéd. I’m so sorry.”

“I quite liked it, actually.” Grantaire was grinning now, even smirking. “Tell me again how much you need me.”

“You stupid arse.” Taking a step forward, Enjolras reached for Grantaire, checking himself for a moment to ask, “is this okay?”

“Perfectly adequate.”

Taking hold of Grantaire’s face in both hands, Enjolras leaned in and kissed him. There were no fireworks, no dancing spots in front of his eyes - just the vague sensation that he was dreaming and that he had never been so close to someone and that, at that moment, he was something more than human.

As they broke apart, Grantaire’s face was flushed.

“Are you okay?” Enjolras asked.

The other man seemed to be having trouble breathing. “I’m…adequate.”

“You said that before.” Enjolras was fighting the urge not to laugh. “Come back to mine. I’ll make you a cup of tea without any bleach in it.”

“I honestly don’t know how I’ve survived six days without you.” Grantaire reached for Enjolras’ arm and linked it with his own and Enjolras, usually so uncomfortable with physical contact, found that, for once, the sensation of togetherness was enough to make him feel complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Enjolras explains to Courfeyrac that his father is prepared to help them bring Théodule to justice. His father is introduced as someone who is unsupportive of Enjolras' homosexuality. Courfeyrac and Combeferre are still in the honeymoon phase. Enjolras, frustrated with his situation, goes for a walk, meets Grantaire by happy chance, and they talk it out, have their first kiss, and agree on the terms of whatever their new relationship is. 
> 
> a/n: ahhhhh sorry this has been so long in coming!! i basically died of stress and was resurrected just in time to find out that i passed my exams!! i will be trying to upload a bit more over the summer (aiming for at least once a week??) now that i have the time. thank you for sticking with this mess!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> let's get this show back on the road! i am soooooooooo sorry for the long gap, i can't even explain myself, i just got lazy over summer.

“I don’t want to do exams,” Bossuet wailed. “It’s too hard. Veterinary medicine in _general_ is too hard. Why didn’t we do human medicine?”

                “We didn’t do human medicine because we’re not pricks,” Joly pointed out. “Or, at least, we’re not _always_ pricks. Come on, Birdy, you can do better than this!” He waved abstractly at a pile of flashcards which Bossuet had thrown onto the floor in a fit of pique.

                “I _hate_ that name,” Bossuet said mulishly.

His real name was Lesgle, which had been converted over the years to L’Aigle by his family over the years thanks to his congenital bald patch on the back of his head. Bossuet was a nickname of unknown origin with which he’d resolutely introduced himself to everyone he knew, but Joly, in his typical playful manner, had taken L’Aigle and run with it, producing a variety of bird-related nicknames which he only used when trying to cajole Bossuet into doing some work.

“It has the desired effect, though.” Bossuet had, in fact, already picked up the flashcards and was rifling through them, attempting to find the answer for the question he’d just been asked.

“You’re the worst.”

“And you’re the best,” Joly replied, smiling.

***

                “So, are you guys, like, an _item_ now?” Courfeyrac asked, looking over the top of his enormous hot chocolate at Cosette, who was blushing and smiling into her coffee. “Do tell.”

                “Sort of?” She grinned. “We’ve been out a few times now. He’s such an idiot, but it suits him.”

                “Couldn’t agree more.” He took a cautious sip of his drink, wincing as it burnt his mouth. “Ouch. And how is captaincy suiting you?”

                Cosette made a face. “It’s been okay. There’s not much happening at the moment since we’re without freshers for the time being, but Théodule is being…well…a dick, for want of a better phrase.”

                “How so?”

                “Just…I feel like I don’t have a say in what happens. He’s got the whole committee completely under his thumb, and every time someone disagrees, he brings up the money that his grandfather intends to pour into the club over the next year, which I think is complete bullshit designed to keep people quiet.”

                “Why?” Courfeyrac leaned forwards, suddenly curious.

                “I’ve talked to Marius about it, and apparently there’s actually very little family money kicking around, especially pertaining to Théodule. The grandfather hates him, and has entailed what money he has on Marius, and has never given Théodule a penny. So, the boat club won’t be getting cash - or, certainly, not from the Pontmercy family.”

                “What are you saying?”

                Cosette shrugged. “If there were a large donation to the boat club within the next year, one could be certain that it did not come from the coffers of the Pontmercy bank account.”

                Courfeyrac left the canteen in a cloud of thought. It was starting to creep towards summer exams for real, and the atmosphere around campus was fraught with nerves. Everywhere he looked, people were leafing through heavy textbooks and making notes and stress-eating. It worried him. And now there was this.

                He wasn’t a bitter person by nature. He wasn’t. But he found that he was living for the moment when Enjolras told him what had happened to Grantaire. It was unhealthy, he knew, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Théodule was up to something.

                “Guess who?” The warm voice made him turn around, and there was Combeferre, looking the very image of calm. There was something so comforting, so solid about him, as if one could disappear into his arms and never let go.

Standing on tiptoes, Courfeyrac dropped a kiss on his cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

“It’s been two hours,” Combeferre said, smiling. They had all of their labs at different times, which was a pain. “What have you been up to?”

“Revision break. I went to the library and opened up the Konig Anatomy and thought I was going to die.” Combeferre started to laugh, which made Courfeyrac all the more indignant. “I don’t know _how_ you study from that thing!”

“And I don’t know how you can get what you need from YouTube videos, but each to their own, I suppose.” Holding hands, they started walking down the stairs. “What are you up to this afternoon?”

“Kicking around at the boathouse, I suppose.” It felt strange to be going down there at a time like this, but Courfeyrac needed a break. “I’ve had some interesting intelligence from Cosette regarding Théodule.”

Beside him, he felt Combeferre stiffen. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Courf, I feel like you’re getting far too caught up in this. You need to focus on the exams,” Combeferre said gently. “I know it’s important to you, but is it worth risking your career?”

“You’re right,” Courfeyrac replied. “I’ve been obsessed. But I want to _know,_ Ferre. I can’t sleep at night knowing that Théodule is getting away with it.”

“I know you do. And you will know. Just…find your balance.” Combeferre squeezed his hand. “Can I come to the boathouse with you? Rugby training’s been cancelled.”

“ _You_ want to come to the boathouse?” Courfeyrac cried, forgetting his problems. Combeferre had always maintained a healthy disinterest about rowing. “What for?”

“To see what you’re so obsessed with, I guess. There must be _something_ I can do.”

“You can launch with me,” Courfeyrac replied immediately. “We’re training coxes and I need someone to weigh down the far end of the tin-fish.”

“Count me in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey! i'm back! and hopefully updating again! this was only a tiny lil chapter to get this up and running again but hopefully more next week.


	14. Chapter 14

“But what on earth makes you _enjoy_ this?” Combeferre asked, bewildered, as he stood on one leg to empty dirty water out of one welly. “I’m soaked to the skin, freezing cold, and, more importantly, I have no idea what we just accomplished.”

“I felt exactly like that when I first started,” Courfeyrac replied, smiling as he watched his - his boyfriend! - hop around on one leg. “But it grabs hold of you, despite the cold and the wind and the rain. I’ve not been able to shake it.”

“I will never understand.” Combeferre finally gave up on trying to put his boot back on, carrying it in his hand as they walked back up the steps to the boathouse. “So what was the point of that?”

“The cox was a novice - they needed at least one safety-trained person out on the water with them in the launch, and I said I’d do it.” Courfeyrac grimaced - he’d been the only one to volunteer, and had been snidely messaged by Théodule the day before telling him, in the most patronising manner possible, how to unlock the cox locker. It was _maddening._ “Not really to do anything, just to keep an eye out and ring for help if something drastic happens, which it never does.”

“Fair enough,” Combeferre replied, groaning when he saw Courfeyrac making finger guns at him out of the corner of his eye. “The flat got you into this as well?”

“I’m on the chart,” Courfeyrac replied, shrugging. “And I don’t fancy a dirty pint any time soon.”

“Wait, you’re on the - oh.” Combeferre, it had to be said, had been less than social in the last few weeks, what with exam revision and Courfeyrac taking up the majority of his time. “Yikes. Better watch my mouth around you, then.”

“You’d better.” Courfeyrac smiled sweetly, reaching up to ruffle Combeferre’s hair. “I’m going to go and debrief with the cox if you want to get out of those wet clothes?”

“Sounds wonderful.” Combeferre debated kissing the boy there and then, but thought better of it. “See you in a bit.”

“In a bit, Ferre.”

In a cloud of thought, Combeferre pushed open the boathouse door and made his way through the narrow, sweat-stained corridors to the male changing rooms. When he opened the door, he was immediately confronted with Courfeyrac’s friend Bossuet, and, what’s more, a very startlingly _naked_ Courfeyrac’s friend Bossuet.

“Oh, god, sorry.” Combeferre didn’t know whether to shield his eyes or turn around and walk right back out again. Bossuet wasn’t even hurrying to cover himself up. Oh _god._ “Shall I…?”

Bossuet laughed. “Sorry about that. I’m very comfortable with my body.”

“Yes, I can see - well - I mean - oh.” Combeferre raised a hand to his face. “Is this normal in the changing rooms? I never - “

Bossuet had picked up a towel and was winding it around his hips. “Well, no. But I thought I was the only one up here. Sorry if I startled you.”

“No - I mean - ,” Combeferre sighed. “Do you have a - a row today?”

“We call them outings here,” Bossuet replied, smiling. “And, no, I don’t - I’m here to get sworn in or whatever they call it, as the new novice men’s captain. There’s a committee meeting later.”

Combeferre’s heart hurt for Courfeyrac. “And you thought you’d - I don’t know, take a naked stroll first?”

“Something like that,” Bossuet said. “It’s very liberating - you should try it sometime.” And, winking, he picked up a pile of clothes and retreated into the showers, and the water flicked on a second later.

Blushing with embarrassment, Combeferre set to work getting changed into the dry clothes he’d brought along. Was he a prude? He didn’t think so. But the thought of getting down and doing the dirty with someone seemed so far removed from his normal self that he couldn’t even imagine the act without feeling something akin to shame. Not that he didn’t want to _do the wild thing_ with Courfeyrac (as his boyfriend would probably have put it) because he did - he just didn’t know how soon he wanted that to be.

And, after a few minutes, something rather more disconcerting began to concern him. Had Courfeyrac talked to Bossuet about their relationship? He and Courfeyrac had kissed a few times now, but nearly always in private and he had always broken it off before things could get too heated, which he knew was a problem, but it was one he didn’t know how to solve.

Resolving to talk to Feuilly about it later, he shoved his wet things into a plastic bag and, pulling a coat on, headed for the door.

***

“Dad.”

Enjolras paused at the table, still standing, as his father stood up and held out a hand. “Enjolras. It’s good to see you, son.” Piercing blue eyes just like his own looked him up and down. “You look taller.”

They were in Thenardiers - it was one of their less busy times, and the only other people in the café were a young couple eating pastries, and an elderly man who was clearly about to fall asleep on the table.

“Well, it has been three years.” Enjolras wanted to kick himself as soon as he’d said it. His father was a high-ranking lawyer who had left his mother when Enjolras was twelve for a young diplomat, and their family had never recovered from the shock. “I’m sorry. I can explain all of this, Dad.”

“Well, go on.” The pair took their seats, facing off across the table. “Tell me everything.”

“Basically, there’s this guy in fourth year at uni who seems to be involved in some sort of inheritance scandal or who, at the very least, is blackmailing people to remain president of the boat club.” Enjolras cleared his throat. “Théodule Pontmercy?”

“I’ve heard of the Pontmercy family.” Javert took a long sip of his coffee. “Difficult people to bring charges against, very powerful. The type that are corrupted to the core.”

“Well, some are them are alright,” Enjolras found himself saying defensively, thinking of the rugby boy, Cosette’s Marius, who he’d seen hanging around with Combeferre and Courfeyrac a few times. “But this guy I know - he’s been blackmailed by Théodule and emotionally and physically hurt by him as well, and Théodule is president for the second time despite the fact that fourth years aren’t allowed to be captains, and there are rumours that he’s been bribing the university with his cousin’s - with Marius Pontmercy’s inheritance. I mean, I don’t know how this works, but this whole thing stinks - “

Javert held up a hand. “Enjolras, don’t take this the wrong way, but you sound like a petulant child. I take it that this Théodule ousted you or a friend of yours from the captain’s seat and now you’re angry. I understand. But you can’t bring a lawsuit against someone on that evidence - it’s tenuous at best and false at worse. If you want a case, I suggest that you get the boy who was hurt by this Pontmercy to testify to the police.”

“How can he, when he won’t even tell _me_ what happened?” Enjolras realised, with an icy pang, that there were tears in his eyes, and blinked them away furiously. “Dad, please. You’ve got to help me.”

“Enjy, there’s no solid case here. You must see that. Plus, this isn’t my area of expertise.” The man rose to his feet, digging in his briefcase as he spoke. “Here’s the card for a barrister I know. She’ll take care of you if a problem arises. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.” He offered his hand.

Enjolras remained seated, his arms resolutely crossed.

Javert sighed. “I’m sorry. I forgot that you hated Enjy.” Placing the business card on the table, he gave his son a brief look - regret? sadness? - before walking away.

***

"Sex?” Feuilly replied, a puzzled expression on his face. “Combeferre, where did this come from?”

“I don’t know - I met Bossuet, Courfeyrac’s friend at the boathouse today, and he implied that I needed to - to loosen up.” Combeferre, if possible, was feeling even worse. He’d parted from Courfeyrac at the station, with a promise to ring him later, and had dropped a neat kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead as they’d left. And, as he did so, he imagined he’d seen a look of disappointment cross Courfeyrac’s face. “I don’t know if I’m in too deep here.”

“If Courfeyrac likes you, he’ll be happy to wait until you’re ready.” Feuilly put down his textbook. They were sitting in his room, which was meticulously tidy except for the unmade bed, which, strangely, smelled of stale sweat, and on which Combeferre was gingerly sat. “And I think he likes you.”

“But he’s so - “

How to describe Courfeyrac? How to describe the casual touch of the hip, the longing glance, the parted lips and the eager smile when questioned? How could he tell Feuilly that Courfeyrac smelled better than anything, that he wanted to hold him tightly and never let him go, and that he longed to be intimate with him, to please him, to see him vulnerable and excited and scared and exhilarated?

“- so _full._ So amazing. And I want to give him what he wants, Feuilly, but I’m scared.”

“Combeferre, you’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” He wasn’t shy about it, especially since he was 99% sure that Feuilly was a virgin too.

“So it’s natural to be a bit nervous. Hell, we’re all scared. I’m scared that I’ll never -.” He stopped. “That’s something for another time. But you do want to have sex with him?”

“Yes.” That was a question he could answer without hesitation.

Feuilly shifted a little in his seat. “So talk to Courfeyrac about it next time you’re alone. Chances are he’ll be happy to wait, to fool around, to do what you want.”

“Thanks, Feuilly.” Combeferre felt oddly comforted, and stood up, stretching. “I’m glad we talked. You make me feel so much better.”

His friend smiled gently. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help.”

Combeferre paused at the door. “Oh, and Feuilly? You’re going to do so well in these exams. Nothing has distracted you, nothing has fazed you. I’m really proud of you, mate.”

A flicker of doubt passed over Feuilly’s face before it reigned into the smile again. “Thanks, Ferre.”

 

***

 

**_Text, Feuilly to Bahorel, 8.34pm_ **

_Come over to my room?_

**_Text, Bahorel to Feuilly, 8.40pm_ **

_has ferre gone?_

**_Text, Feuilly to Bahorel, 8.41pm_ **

_Yep._

**_Text, Bahorel to Feuilly, 8.42pm_ **

_do u have any condoms?_

**_Text, Feuilly to Bahorel, 8.43pm_ **

_Yeah, but I’m out of lube._

**_Text, Bahorel to Feuilly, 8.45pm_ **

_let me in, ur wish is granted_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AIGHT!! we're back! i promised to not let this become a holidays-only fic but, sadly, this is what it has deteriorated into. you'll be a getting at least three chapters in the next two years - you're welcome, world. 
> 
> on the slightly more thankful side - THANK YOU for sticking with this, as, once again, i have become a sort of writing hermit who only emerges to howl over the state of her personal affairs and to get more cups of unproductive coffee. hopefully i'll become productive again at some point in my life, but, for now, enjoy the longest chapter i've written in a while, with even MORE slow burn and even MORE communication


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of animal abuse/death around mid-way through. Read the end-notes for a summary of the chapter action.

“We need to talk.”

Grantaire laughed, turning around with the bowls of pasta balanced precariously on one arm. “This isn’t about the mock again, is it? Because, Enjolras, I lo - I like you, but if you ask me to compare one more answer I’m going to throw myself out of the window.”

Enjolras smiled, taking one of the bowls of pasta from his boyfriend. “Not about the exam, no. I think I’ve compared every answer on that multiple-choice and nobody got the same as me. What’s in this?”

“It’s just spinach ragu. That’s probably because you actually know what you’re talking about, Enj. You’re probably going to be the first person in the history of this university to score 100% across the veterinary medicine curriculum.” Picking up a fork, Grantaire started enthusiastically twirling the spaghetti onto it. “So what do you want to talk about?”

“Théodule.”

The word had the effect he expected. Grantaire put his fork down again, face a shade paler than it had been before. “Enjolras - “

“Look, it’s been buried long enough. Grantaire, if you tell me what happened, we might actually have a viable case here. We might be able to _prosecute_ him. And with Marius as well - “

“What about Marius?” Grantaire seized on the change of topic like a drowning man.

“It’s complicated, but Courfeyrac and I think that Théodule may be embezzling money from Marius’ inheritance. That’s the sort of thing we need lawyers to help us figure out, and to get a lawyer we need your testimony.” When he didn’t answer, Enjolras reached over and took his hand. “Grantaire. _Please._ ”

“Okay. Fine.” The words came out in a rush of breath. “But you have to promise not to tell _anyone._ ”

“I won’t, I swear.”

“Not even Courfeyrac. This has to be between me and you - and the lawyers, I suppose.”

“You know I wouldn’t be asking this unless there was no other way.”              

Grantaire smiled sadly. “I know. Look, Enjolras, it’s - it’s difficult to explain. Théodule blackmailed me into standing down from novice captain applications. You know that already. But…he _bullied_ me, Enjolras. Do you remember me telling you about him throwing a fresher in the river because they crabbed in a race?”

“Yeah?” Enjolras felt his heart sink. All of a sudden, he could see where this was going.

Grantaire swallowed. “Yeah. That was me. When he threw me, I - I hit my head on a rock on the riverbed. Almost drowned. It took a whole minute for someone to realise that I wasn’t coming up. And some of the senior men waded in and pulled me out. The whole club was up in arms about it. Théodule was out of line. There was talk about reporting him to the SU.”

“And?”

“What you don’t know is that - is that - “

“Spit it out, Grantaire.”

“Théodule was my adoptive cousin.”

It took a couple of seconds for Enjolras to digest it. “You - _what_?”

“I’m a foster kid, you know that. My parents died. They were friends of the Pontmercy family. I was taken in by the grandfather for a couple of years when we were younger, from thirteen to fifteen years old or so, before Marius went to live with him. Théodule and I were together in that big old house pretty much twenty-four-seven for weeks on end - Old Man Pontmercy had us tutored, you see. Empty, alone. Shit tutors. Things got out of hand pretty quickly.”

“What was Théodule threatening you with?” Enjolras asked slowly. “Grantaire?”

“Théodule killed a cat.” It all came out of Grantaire in a rush, like he was voiding himself of something painful. “When I was fifteen. With our - with his bare hands. This must sound like avoidance, but I really didn’t have any part in it. But I was there, and I didn’t stop him. I didn’t know how to. It scratched him, scratched a - this leather jacket he really liked. And he strangled it.”

“ _What?_ ” Enjolras was aghast. “Surely you’re joking.”

“I wish I was. And that’s what he’s been threatening me with. It was Old Man Pontmercy’s cat - he was fond of it. Théodule told him that I killed it, and I was out on my ear before you could say _Gillenormand._ ” No juvenile police record, luckily, but a whole host of people who believed then - who still believe now - that I could have done that.”

“And?”

“He was threatening to tell the university, to call up Pontmercy and get him to explain everything. To have me struck off, in essence, before I’d even started practicing veterinary medicine.” Grantaire withdrew his hand from Enjolras’ and started picking at a blister on his palm. “I couldn’t jeopardise my career, my _life,_ for the sake of a captaincy. So I dropped the application, and quit rowing.” He gave a small smile. “And Théodule Pontmercy still owns my ass.”

“Grantaire…” Enjolras paused, his face creased with worry. “Grantaire, I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s worse than you thought?”

“It makes everything far more complicated.” He shook his head. “But thank you for telling me. I’m glad you trust me enough to do that.”

“I trust you more than anyone.” Grantaire looked up, his eyes the most startling they’d ever been. “You must know that.”

“And I you,” he replied, smiling. “I love you.”

“You - you?” Grantaire stuttered. “I mean, I love you too.”

 

***

“Gav? How’re you?” Éponine asked, kicking back on her bed, phone pressed against her ear. “Haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“ _Yeah, well, you’re crap at picking up the phone - it’s not my fault,”_ her little brother replied, laughing. “ _I’m good, yeah. First exam tomorrow and all that.”_

“Which one is it?”

“ _French.”_

“Good luck. I remember my GCSE French, it was hell. You’re lucky you’re basically fluent.”

“ _Perks of hanging around with the Patron-Minette.”_

Éponine sighed. “And how _is_ our dear father?”

“ _Still up to something. Monty, Gul, and Claq are here nearly every night now. Mentioned something about a company they’re targeting - something like that, anyway. Had a funny name. French. Do you think they pick them just for the aesthetic?”_

“Quite possibly - you know Monty, he’d do anything for the aesthetic.” Éponine always rather enjoyed talking about her ex. Their breakup had been one of her most amicable - he’d only pulled out his switchblade once. “Listen, Gav, you’ve got to get out of there over the summer, you hear me? Get a job, do summer school. Don’t get involved in all that stuff again.”

“ _I know.”_

There was a long silence while Éponine struggled to articulate how worried she was about her brother. He’d always been far more lenient with their father’s criminal ways than she had been, and she knew he saw it as a kind of distraction from his schoolwork. And now, from what Gavroche said, it seemed like the Patron-Minette were moving towards cyber-crime and hacking. High-stakes and dangerous.

“ _Pontmercy.”_

“Excuse me?”

“ _That was the name of the company. Weird name, isn’t it? Uncommon. Something to do with money - accountancy or actuarial or something.”_ Gavroche yawned. “ _I’ve got to go, Ép. Early bird catches the worm and all that.”_

“Alright. Love you, Gav.”

“ _Love you too.”_

Éponine hung up her phone, heart already pounding. Pontmercy. Uncommon name. Lots of money in the family, a London business, one that her father and his cronies were targeting from the web.

Oh, god.

She’d have to talk to Marius.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY thanks for sticking with me once again while I wrap my head around Virology. Couldn't do vet school without ya. 
> 
> CHAPTER SUMMARY if you skipped due to tw's: Enjolras and Grantaire have a long, honest conversation. Grantaire reveals that Théodule was his adoptive cousin for a period of two years, but that ended abruptly when Théodule killed a cat and blamed it on Grantaire. Théodule has been blackmailing Grantaire by threatening to have him kicked out of university and struck off if he doesn't comply with Théodule's agenda. They talk about this and then exchange "I love you"s for the first time. The scene shifts to Eponine, who is on the phone to Gavroche. He informs her that her father and the PM plan to strike an accountancy company called Pontmercy. Éponine puts two and two together.


	16. Chapter 16

Taking a deep breath, Enjolras typed the number that his father had given him into his phone, and pressed ‘call’.

It was a Wednesday morning, a beautiful one - it had just stopped raining, and the sun was glittering off the drying tarmac outside as the day got warmer. They had a week of revision leave between their written and practical exams, and, normally, Enjolras would be concentrating like a demon, locked in his room 24/7 and mainlining coffee like an addict. But he had to get this off his chest first.

“ _Hello?”_

A female voice stirred him from his thoughts. “Hi. Um, my name is Enjolras - I’m Javert’s son? He gave me this number - I - I think I’ve got a case.”

 _“He said you might call.”_ The woman shuffled some papers on the other end of the line. _“What sort of case?”_

“Blackmail, I think. Corruption.”

_“And there’s money involved?”_

Enjolras swallowed.“Possibly. That’s not yet clear.”

_“Let’s meet, just in case. My fees - “_

“I can cover them.”

_“I was about to say that I can waive them for the son of a co-worker, but I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”_

“Sorry, I never asked - what’s your name?”

There was a brief pause on the other end. “ _I’m Fantine. Fantine Fauchelevant.”_

***

“So, you’ve got the lawyer?”

“I’ve got the lawyer.” Enjolras smiled. “Thank god. I was beginning to think this was a lost cause.”

“You’re telling me.” Courfeyrac swung himself up onto the counter and crossed his legs. “So, what now?”

“I’m going to meet with her next week to talk over the case details. And then, I guess, we’ll see.”

“But how will she know that what you’ve got is actual facts?” Courfeyrac asked, frowning. “It’s all a bit wishy-washy right now.”

Enjolras sighed. “I, um, recorded Grantaire. When he was telling me the story. On my phone. I have him on tape talking about it.”

“You sly bastard,” Courfeyrac replied. “That’s a bit of a breach of trust, isn’t it?”

“Sort of?” Enjolras grimaced. “It was the only way - hard evidence. He doesn’t have to know.”

“People always find out, Enjolras.”

“I know.” The kettle clicked off, boiling water rumbling inside it like the cannons of doom. “How is Combeferre, by the way?”

“Odd.” Courfeyrac mimicked his grimace. “He’s been acting weirdly lately. I thought it might just be exams, but I’m not sure.”

Enjolras poured the hot water onto the teabags in the two mugs, and started absent-mindedly stirring them. “Weirdly?”

“Just not - you know - very affectionate. He’ll kiss my forehead, or my cheek, but he won’t hug me or kiss me properly, and I don’t want to initiate anything just in case he’s going through some stuff.” Courfeyrac sighed, accepting the mug of tea Enjolras was offering. “Thanks. But what if he’s waiting for me to start something? I just don’t know.”

“You guys are good at the whole communication thing, right? Talk to him.” Enjolras shook his head, taking his seat on the least stained sofa again. “Chances are, he’s just stressed out. That’s his type. Academic, organised. They don’t like it when things go awry. Maybe the multiple choice paper didn’t go his way.”

 "Maybe.” Courfeyrac took a long gulp of tea. “That’s so good. How’s things with Grantaire, other than you completely betraying his trust?”

“Who’s doing what now?” Joly asked loudly, using his cane to push the door into the kitchen open. “Did I hear the kettle boiling and Courfeyrac accuse Enjolras of betrayal?”

“Speak up, Joly, I feel like people living in the Peruvian Andes didn’t quite hear you.” Courfeyrac smiled. “Nothing to be worried about. Fancy a cuppa?”

“I’m desperate. I’ve now developed stress headaches and caffeine is the only cure.” Flopping down onto the most stained sofa, Joly picked up an empty mug from the coffee table by threading his cane through the handle, and handed it up to Courfeyrac. “Did you know that dogs have a four-headed tricep muscle? I’ve been trying to identify this bloody accessory head for nearly two hours and I only just realised that that is what it was.”

“Oh, Joly,” Enjolras said as sympathetically as he could. “That was in our very first lecture.”

“You’re joking. Urgh.” He buried his head in his hands. “Euthanize me.”

“I can’t, we don’t learn how to do that until third year.”

 

***

Courfeyrac walked over the brow of the hill, just like he’d done a thousand times before, and looked to the right out of habit. But the winter mists were long gone, and, instead, he looked down the grassy stretch dotted with students studying, chatting, eating.

It had been a hard year. Sometimes he wondered why he was still doing this - surely, if first year was this hard, it was only going to get worse? But then he remembered - Combeferre, and his friends, and rowing, and the far-off feeling of graduating and becoming a real vet. That was why he was doing it. To make something of his life.

And yet. Combeferre was being distant, and he was _sure_ it wasn’t stress of exams. That would be a whole different kettle of fish. His flat were all living together again next year, in a house they’d found a mile or so away from campus - it had mould and a tiny kitchen and a disconcerting number of mouse holes, but it had been the only one they could find - but he could feel Enjolras drifting away, inch by inch. He wasn’t _that_ good at rowing - he was fit, and had good technique, but would never be the best, just because he was so small, and there was natural advantage in being tall in rowing. (He’d have to ask Combeferre to try it one day). There were so many reasons to be upset, to lose hope.

And yet. And yet. He looked forwards, and carried on walking.

 

***

**_YikYak, 4.58pm_ **

_who knew the triceps had four heads in the dog??!?!?!_

***

 

“So, what shall we do tonight?” Marius asked. He was sprawled on the rug in Cosette’s bedroom, making notes in his anatomy textbook. “I’m thinking the cinema. We could both use a break.”

“I can’t really afford to,” Cosette said distractedly. “The Thénardiers haven’t paid me yet.” She was at her desk, writing her characteristically neat flashcards in beautiful flowing script.

“I’ll treat you. Or we could stay in and watch something.” Marius rolled over onto his back, knocking over his pen pot. “Whoops. But we do need a break. We’ve been at this revision for eight hours now.”

“You’re right.” Cosette turned around in her chair, smiling when she saw Marius lying in the pile of pens. “Let’s go for a walk, get some fresh air.”

“Okay.” Marius reached for his jumper, and, hearing his phone vibrating urgently, grabbed it off the bed. “Éponine’s texted me, like nine times.”

“Is she okay?” Cosette was rooting in her wardrobe for a cardigan.

“I’m just reading them now.”

 

**_Text, Éponine to Marius, 6.07pm_ **

****

_marius i need to talk to you_

_it’s my dad. no time to explain but as you know he's not a good guy_

_he’s head of a crime syndicate called dawn w his friends that's why he was arrested before_

_he’s targeting your grandfather’s company next. cyber crime_

_meet me outside thénardiers in an hour._

And then, almost as an afterthought;

 

_don’t bring Cosette there may be trouble._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbelievably, i managed to write two chapters within less than a month of each other. this is second year, y'all. woohoo! 
> 
> thanks agin for the incredible support, i value you all more than i value my veterinary education imho


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a/n: you guys are my FAVES. who else would stay faithful to a story when the author only updates when the stars are in the positions for this tribute? (eldorado reference wins every time). pls forgive me and accept a WHOLE NEW CHAPTER (nearly 3000 words!) of HEALTHY COMMUNICATION, TRUTH TELLING, and MAKING OUT.

“What’s this about, Éponine?”

Marius was _furious._ And cold. Mostly cold. He’d left Cosette at her house with assurances of his quick return and the last Mars Bar he’d had left, and had trekked, in his shorts and t-shirt, back over to Thénardiers (as if he didn’t spend enough time on that side of town anyway), and Éponine had had the audacity to be _late._

“I’m really sorry, Marius,” Éponine said, looking over her shoulder as she pulled her cardigan closer around her. “I know it’s bad timing. But - you know. You read the texts.”

“How do you know you’re right? And how do I tell my grandfather about this?” Marius shivered, goose-pimples beginning to rise on his arms. “He’s going to think I’ve gone mad.”

“My brother told me.” When Marius scoffed, her voice increased slightly in pitch. “No! Gavroche…he’s sixteen, he wants to get out of here just as much as I do. As I did. He just hangs around with the gang, with Dawn, because the guys pay him to fetch cigarettes or whatever during their meetings. That’s it.”

“You really expect me to believe that your father - old Thénardier, the bumbling fool, the _drunkard,_ is the head of a sophisticated crime ring?” Marius pinched the bridge of his nose. “Éponine, it’s too much.”

“He doesn’t _commit_ the crimes. He organises them. No need to be any more than a fool for that.” Éponine scowled. “Believe me, or don’t. I don’t fucking care.”

Marius winced - the swear word sounded harsh in Éponine’s voice, as if he was somehow witnessing something break. “Look. I can’t - I’ll talk to my grandfather. Maybe he knows something about this group, about Dawn. At least I can warn him, even if he doesn’t believe me.”

“Okay.” Éponine was about to turn on her heel when Marius grabbed hold of her arm.

“Ép.” His voice was gentler now. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t be so mean. But -“

“It’s _fine,_ Marius.” She hated how harsh she sounded. “I’ve got to go. I can’t be seen out here right now.”

“I’ll see you back at the flat, then? Maybe?” Marius called after her as she stalked back towards the door of the café. “Good.”

Taking out his mobile, he searched for his grandfather’s work number, and pressed _call._

***

****

**_YikYak, 11:20pm_ **

_last big night on the cards, Friday, the Roxy, be there or be a loser_

**_Whatsapp, Musichetta to FLAT CHAT_ **

_who’s going out on friday?????_

**_Whatsapp, Joly to FLAT CHAT_ **

_if anyone_ isn’t _going out on friday, expect to be disowned x x x_

**_Text, Courfeyrac to Combeferre, 11:23pm_ **

_hey, you coming out on friday? should be fun x_

**_Text, Combeferre to Courfeyrac, 11:25pm_ **

_Yeah, sounds good. I think Bahorel is plotting joint predrinks if you want to come?_

**_Text, Courfeyrac to Combeferre, 11:27pm_ **

_I’LL BE THERE XX_

**_Whatsapp, Marius to VETERINARY MEMES FOR MASTITIC TEENS, 11:40pm_ **

_can i bring cosette to pres on friday?_

_also, can i make another formal objection to the name of this chat_

_i am not, and never will be, mastitic_

**_Whatsapp, Éponine to VETERINARY MEMES FOR MASTITIC TEENS, 11:41pm_ **

_objection denied but cosette allowed_

_you want to be a large animal vet, mastitis is going to be your LIFE_

**_Whatsapp, Bahorel to VETERINARY MEMES FOR MASTITIC TEENS, 11:42pm_ **

_^^^^_

_prinks will be at ours at 9.30pm, everyone is invited lmao_

_except hockey players_

***

 “I don’t know what to do,” Combeferre said in an anguished voice, sitting down heavily on Feuilly’s bed.

It was late at night, probably too late to be discussing love lives, but, damn, it was an emergency. Feuilly himself had been up anyway, and was still busy tidying his bookshelves. Combeferre didn’t mind - he knew that that was just Feuilly’s style - but, for once, he wanted Feuilly to be fully engaged.

“What’s even up with Courfeyrac and you?” Feuilly asked, still facing the bookshelf. “Like, are you guys dating or what?”

“I don’t - I don’t _think_ so? Anymore? It feels more like we’re talking, maybe seeing each other, but not - we said we were boyfriends a while back, but nothing since.” Combeferre sighed. “He’s probably just stressed with exams and stuff, but he’s about to disappear off for the summer, as am I, and I’m thinking that it might just be easier to - to break it off before one of us gets hurt.”

Feuilly turned around. “Combeferre, you know I’m not a nihilist by nature.”

“And?” Combeferre crossed his arms. “Are you saying I should break up with Courfeyrac?”

“I don’t know, if I’m honest,” Feuilly replied, shrugging. “It could go either way. You could stick with it and end up being nauseatingly happy with him, or you could do the same thing and end up broken. Relationships are tricky, man.”

“I mean, we’re constantly talking on Facebook, or texting, or snapchatting, but there’s - there’s nothing _there_ anymore.”

“Well, you’re not fed up with him, at least,” Feuilly said thoughtfully. “Maybe you could try injecting a little romance back into the situation? After all, when did you decide that you liked him?”

“Um -“

“No need to tell me. Just think about it.”

Combeferre knew, to the second, the moment when he’d first realised he felt something for Courfeyrac.

 

_“I miss the fields sometimes.”_

_“I know the feeling.” Beside him, Courfeyrac had shoved his hands back into his pockets and was gazing ahead intensely. “I always feel so lonely in the city. I was never meant to be here, I don’t think.”_

_“It really hurts sometimes.” Somehow, not facing Courfeyrac made it much easier to talk to him. The words were spilling out of Combeferre’s mouth before he could stop them. “It really goddamn hurts that nobody else seems to understand what I’m feeling. It’s not just missing home, it’s_ painful.”

_“I understand.” Combeferre turned to see Courfeyrac smiling peacefully, as if something had fallen into place for him. “I understand completely.”_

“You’ve got it, then?” Feuilly asked, evidently seeing Combeferre’s distant look. “Go back to that place, that time, and take Courfeyrac with you. Rekindle whatever it was you were feeling then.”

“It’s too hard, Feuilly. I’m too tired.” Combeferre knew he was making up excuses now, but it was so much easier than admitting that he was more invested in Courfeyrac than he cared to be. “Isn’t there a simpler way?”

“Afraid not.” Feuilly smiled. “Come on, Combeferre. You like the boy.”

“I do.” Despite himself, Combeferre smiled. “I do like him.”

“So fight for him. Don’t give up just because times are stressful. Think in the present.” Feuilly took Combeferre’s right hand in both of his, his rough palms surprisingly gentle. “Don’t be a fool in love.”

“You’re the best, Feuilly.”

There was a brief moment of silence, before Feuilly broke his gaze and looked downwards. “Combeferre, I have to confess something. I’m actually sleeping wi- seeing someone as well.”

“Feuilly, you sly dog!” Combeferre gasped, temporarily forgetting his problems. “That’s great! Who? Is it that girl from the SU bar? Or that hockey boy in your dissection group? Or -?”

There was a loud knock on the door, and, without waiting for a reply, Bahorel came storming into the room, a frown on his usually amiable face. “Feuilly, babe, I need to - “

Combeferre’s eyes widened as he put two and two together. “Nooooooooooo. Marius was right. Oh my god.”

“Feuilly, you _told him?”_ Bahorel asked, coming to an abrupt halt. “I thought we said - “

“I needed to get it out, Baz,” Feuilly said, shrugging and getting to his feet. “Combeferre, I’d appreciate it if you kept quiet about it, if you don’t mind. I want you to know, but I’m - we’re not ready for _everyone_ to. Just yet, anyway.”

“Please,” Bahorel added, his eyebrows furrowed over his pleading eyes. “We trust you, Ferre.”

“I won’t tell anyone.” Combeferre couldn’t resist asking. “How long have you been - ?”

“Since Christmas Ball. You know how we both disappeared about three hours in?”

“Oh my god.” He stood up as well. “You _didn’t_ decide to walk ten miles for a McDonalds rather than eating the crappy caterer food? I’ve been telling _everyone_ that story!”

“Well, we did. And then we made out. And then we got the train home and made out some more.” Bahorel had the grace to look bashful as he slid an arm around Feuilly’s waist. “A whole lot of wine was consumed in those three hours, you understand?”

“It is Christmas Ball, after all,” Feuilly added. “It’d be a shame to pay and then _not_ down two bottles before dinner.”

“You’re both legends, you know that?” Combeferre said, grinning. “Idiots, but legends.”

“Swear not to tell?”

“Of course.”

 

***

**_Text, Combeferre to Courfeyrac, 00:12am_ **

_are you free tomorrow night?_

**_Text, Courfeyrac to Combeferre, 00:13am_ **

_yeah, need to revise but can make time_

_why?_

**_Text, Combeferre to Courfeyrac, 00:14am_ **

_meet me at uni front door at 8pm. we need to talk, i think_

**_Text, Courfeyrac to Combeferre, 00:16am_ **

_i’ll be there_

*******

“He needs to _talk,”_ Courfeyrac wailed. “Oh my god. We’re breaking up.”

“You’re obviously not breaking up,” Enjolras replied, rolling his eyes.

“How do you know?”

“Because you guys like each other. I know it’s been weird for the last couple of weeks but you’ll endure.”

The pair of them were sat in the university computer room, surrounded by the hubbub of other people who blatantly weren’t concentrating on their work. Their final exam was the next day, and everyone was panicking and attempting to revise everything they hadn’t learned already.

“You say that, but people don’t always.” Courfeyrac looked at the clock. Ten minutes to eight. “ _Fuck!_ What do I do? What do I say?”

“You apologise for being distant - and don’t protest, you _know_ you’ve been too busy to concentrate on a relationship - and Combeferre will tell you what’s on his mind. The pair of you will do some more of that healthy communication you love so much and then probably make out while the Imperial March plays in the distance.” Enjolras was feverishly typing up a lecture on bacteria, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he spoke. “Voila. Done.”

“I have been a bit shit, haven’t I?” Courfeyrac said worriedly, as he started to tidy up his workspace. “We had that Star Wars date, and we see each other for lunch most days at uni, but - you know. It’s not a real relationship, we’re not each other’s boyfriends. I don’t think.”

“Maybe that’s what he wants to talk about. Making it official, trying harder. That sort of thing.”

“Or maybe he wants to tell me that this was all a massive mistake and that he’s fallen in love with a beautiful blonde woman who has converted him into a Trek fan.” Enjolras gave him a confused glance. “Bisexual, Enj, and a Trek sympathiser.”

“Damn. Not Trek.”

“I know.” Courfeyrac looked at his watch, and his phone buzzed in his pocket. “Shit, I’ve got to go. Text me when you get home so that I can come and cry on your shoulder.”

“Will do,” Enjolras said, before turning around and grabbing Courfeyrac’s arm. “It’s going to be okay, Courf. You like him, and he likes you. That’s something to hold onto.”

“Thanks, Enjolras.” Courfeyrac mustered up a smile and left the computer room, pulling his phone out of his pocket to see a text from Jehan.

 

**_Text, Jehan to Courfeyrac, 7:58pm_ **

_can i come up to London soon pls? i miss u_

_i’m free this weekend_

Courfeyrac sighed. _Fine._ Jehan would never let him rest until he’d been out with his uni friends.

 

**_Text, Courfeyrac to Jehan, 7:59pm_ **

_we’re going out on Friday_

_come with us_

***

 

“Hey.”

Combeferre was glowing in the sunset. The evening was drawing in close with every fragment of time, his breath beginning to mist in the air as Courfeyrac came walking down the steps towards him.

“Hey.” Courfeyrac debated kissing him on the cheek, but settled for a smile instead. “You wanted to talk?”

“Let’s walk first.” Combeferre turned around and led the way up towards the brow of the hill, where the streetlights were just starting to flicker on. “Beautiful evening.”

“Yeah.” Courfeyrac stuffed his hands into his pocket and followed, wondering what the hell Combeferre was doing. “Are you feeling ready for tomorrow?”

“Not even close, but I’ve tried.” Combeferre seemed to sigh. “And that’s all you can do, really.”

 _Oh my god,_ Courfeyrac thought to himself. _This is it. We’re breaking up._ _If we were ever really together. God!_

As they crested the hill, they were hit with a slight tinge of breeze coming from the East, sweeping Combeferre’s hair out of place as he turned to face Courfeyrac.

“Do you remember walking here with me, after we met for the first time?”

“Yeah.” Courfeyrac could never forget - the angry tears blurring Combeferre’s vision, the lump in his throat, the deep, swirling mist below them that never seemed to end. “Another beautiful day.”

“Yeah.” Combeferre cleared his throat. “Look, Courfeyrac.”

He steeled himself. “Ferre -“

“I’ve been a horrible person.” Combeferre spread his hands. “I - I didn’t know whether we were embarking on a relationship or - or what, and I panicked. I was distant. I didn’t know what I wanted. And I’m sorry if it’s hurt you, or made you not like me any more. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make excuses, but - if you’re anything like me, you’ve been stressed and tired and miserable for months now, and I let our relationship - or whatever this is, I don’t mind what we call it - fall by the wayside. And I shouldn’t have let that happen.”

“I’ve been just as bad,” Courfeyrac burst out. Below them, mist was beginning to form over the treetops as night dropped down into the city. “I backed away when I saw you becoming distant and it never crossed my mind to reach out to you. There’s something missing here, I know, and I want to - Ferre, I want to try again, but only if you’re willing. Only if you feel the same.”

“God, Courf, that’s _all_ I want.” Combeferre sounded as if he was choking back tears. “I’ve been such a fool. All this time, I thought you were just trying to - I don’t know what I thought. But I’m in this if you are too, and I’m in it for the long run. I want to be with you.”

Courfeyrac couldn’t remember ever feeling this happy. All of a sudden, he realised that Combeferre was holding his hand, and his breath caught. “You can’t just do that. You can’t just take someone’s hand out of nowhere.” And suddenly he was crying, and laughing, and clutching a handful of Combeferre’s jumper in his fist. “I love you, you knob.”

Combeferre broke out into the biggest smile that Courfeyrac had ever seen, his eyes sparkling. “I love you too. Let’s never do that to each other again.”

“Never, never, ever,” Courfeyrac agreed in a choked voice, letting go of Combeferre’s hand to reach up and cup his cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” And they were kissing, and this was different to how it had ever been before. Courfeyrac’s hand moved from Combeferre’s cheek to the small of his back, pulling him in until their bodies were flush and the heat was too much to bear, and, _god,_ Combeferre’s mouth was hot and wet and gorgeous on his, nipping at his lower lip as he rocked forward into Courfeyrac’s embrace and his hands moved to Courfeyrac’s hair and -

They broke apart, panting, but still clutching onto one another.

Courfeyrac was the first to break the silence, his forehead on Combeferre’s chest. “Why have we never done that before?”

“Better start making up for lost time,” Combeferre replied, his eyes feverish as he took hold of Courfeyrac’s face in both hands and kissed him again. This time, it was slow and incandescent and oh-so-glorious, Combeferre’s tongue sliding into Courfeyrac’s mouth and his hands hooking into the  belt loops on Combeferre’s skinny jeans, and then Combeferre’s hands were on his ass and _god_ Courfeyrac couldn’t take it anymore, not without making a scene in public, and pulled away.

“Everything okay?” Combeferre asked.

“Everything…is…glorious,” Courfeyrac replied, standing on his tiptoes to kiss Combeferre again. Would he ever get tired of that? “But I’m dangerously close to ravishing you right here and that’s probably not allowed on university property.”

“Better take me somewhere else to ravish me properly, then,” Combeferre said, raising an eyebrow. “Indecency wouldn’t do on the night before an exam.”

“Oh, shit. Why did you have to remind me?” Courfeyrac groaned, as everything came crashing down. “Can I put the ravishing off until a later date? I need to cram the nervous system before tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Combeferre smiled gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“See you tomorrow.” Reaching up one last time, Courfeyrac pulled Combeferre down and kissed him again, pretending not to hear as the taller man moaned a little into his mouth as Courfeyrac’s hands furled into his hair. _Aha._ So _that_ was what Combeferre was into. “Let’s make this better than last time, okay?”

Straightening up, Combeferre nodded. “Let’s make it the best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> behold the actual longest chapter i've ever written. there are perks to milking 3am-7am every morning, folks - it means you have the rest of the day to daydream...
> 
> but, ya. here's some slow burn resolution for y'all.

**Author's Note:**

> (nb: may not include chases, escapes, or miracles.)


End file.
